FROM    THE   LIBRARY   OF 


REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.  D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 


THE    LIBRARY   OF 


PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


DWfiiorf     SCS> 
Section       /^O^^ 


SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT-WATCHES 


Songs  in  the  N  ight-Wa 


From  Voices  Old  and  New 


COMPILED 

BY  d/ 

HELEN    H.  STRONG  THOMPSON 


"And  the  night  shall  he  filled  with  music" 


NEW    YORK 
THE  BAKER  AND  TAYLOR  CO 

1888 


Copyright,  1888, 
By  THE  BAKER  AND  TAYLOR  CO. 


Press  of  J.  j.   Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York. 


TO 

H.  C.  T. 

THE    STEADFAST    FRIEND 

WHO 

THESE   MANY    YEARS 

HAS    WALKED    BESIDE    ME 

WITH    A    SONG 

THROUGH     DARKEST     NIGHT 


PREFACE. 

THE  nights  of  human  experience  are  long,  "  Until 
the  day-dawn  and  the  day-star  arise  in  (the)  heart." 
Happy  he  who  can  say,  "  In  the  night  His  song  shall  be 
with  me,"  and  "  I  will  praise  His  Name  with  a  song," 
or,  who  "  Instructed  in  Song,"  remembereth  Him 
"  who  giveth  songs  in  the  night,"  and  finds  himself 
"Compassed  with  songs  of  deliverance."  Then, 
verily,  "  Calling  to  remembrance  (the)  song  in  the 
night,"  "  shall  this  song  be  sung, — '  Trust  ye  in  the 
Lord  forever  ! '  " 

The  heart  may,  indeed,  sing  its  songs  with  the 
sadness  of  the  nightingale,  instead  of  the  joyousness 
of  the  lark,  through  its  nights  of  Darkness,  Heavi- 
ness, Temptation,  Humiliation,  Poverty,  Captivity, 
Fear, — even  all  through  the  "  House  of  (its)  Pilgrim- 
age " — it  may  sing  its  Song  of  Remembrance,  with  a 
tear  in  every  note,  through  Sickness,  Bereavement 
and  Death,  but  "The  Song  of  Songs,"  and  "The 
New  Song,"  will  wipe  out  the  tear.  These  can  only 
be  sung  now,  in  imagination  of  heavenly  choirs, 
chanting  the  praises  of  Him  who  is  "the  Light  of 
the  world."     We  may  here  \ 


Vlll 


Jktfface. 


44  Sing1  of  His  dying  love, 

Sing  of  His  rising  power, 
Sing  how  He  intercedes  above, 
For  those  whose  sins  He  bore." 
But 

44  There  shall  each  raptured  tongue 
His  endless  praise  proclaim, 
And  sweeter  voices  tune  the  song," 

than  the  most  ravishing  notes  on  earth. 

So  when  we  speak  of  "The  Song  of  Songs,"  and 
"The  New  Song,"  we  know  that  we  shall  only  tune 
the  voice  to  these  when  the  Night  songs  are  past. 
The  sweet  singer  of  Israel  does  indeed  say,  "  Sing 
unto  the  Lord  a  new  song,  for  He  hath  done  marvel- 
ous things  " — meaning  a  song  of  deliverance  ;  also, 
14  He  hath  put  a  new  song  in  my  mouth  "  (of  praise), 
but  St.  John,  from  his  vision  in  the  Isle  of  Patmos,  de- 
clared, "  They  sang  as  it  were  a  new  song  before 
the  throne"  .  .  .  but  no  man  could  learn  that 
song  save  they  which  were  redeemed  from  death  ! 
Then,  dawns 

44  That  light  which  hath  no  morning, 
That  knows  nor  moon  nor  sun, 
The  light  so  new  and  golden 
The  light  that  is  but  One  ! " 


In  the  selection  of  these  songs,  the  highest  stand- 
ard of  literary  excellence  has  not  been  considered  to 
the  exclusion  of  those  which  have  the  merit  of  reach- 
ing the  popular  heart  ;  the  object  being  to  pierce 
with  a  joyous  note  the  darkness  of  the  night. 


Preface.  ix 

The  writer  returns  cordial  thanks  to  the  publishers 
and  authors  of  copyrighted  poems,  who  have  kindly 
permitted  their  use.  A  few  which  have  been  gath- 
ered as  waifs,  are  necessarily  used  without  special 
authority.  Particular  acknowledgments  are  due  to 
Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers,  Randolph  &  Co.,  Ticknor 
&  Co.,  Robert  Carter,  James  Miller,  Charles  H. 
Adams,  Appleton  &  Co.,  and  more  especially  to 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  for  extracts  from  Dr.  J.  G. 
Holland's  "Bitter-Sweet,"  and  to  Messrs.  Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co.,  for  quotations  from  Longfellow,  Emer- 
son, Whit  ier,  Holmes,  Stedman,  Miss  Phelps,  Mrs. 
Whitney,  Phoebe  and  Alice  Cary,  and  many  others, 
all  of  whom,  by  their  courtesy,  have  greatly  aided 
the  writer,  to  the  use  of  voices  old  and  new,  in  this 
collection  of  songs. 

H.  H.  S.  T. 


INTRODUCTION. 


It  is  the  dark  mysteries  of  life  which  try  our  faith. 
But  there  are  no  absolute  mysteries  in  the  world. 
Mysteries  are  such  only  in  their  relation  to  our 
ignorance.  To  God  they  are  as  open  as  the  light. 
Since  he  understands  them  they  are  explicable.  We 
do  not  need  to  know  the  explanation  ;  to  know  that 
there  is  one  is  enough.  u  Thou  knowest  not  now, 
but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter."  There  is  much  that 
we  do  not  understand  now,  but  a  Christian  does  not 
need  to  understand.  He  can  trust  where  he  cannot 
see.  Those  who  trust  God  only  so  far  as  they  can 
see,  do  not  trust  him  at  all.  Faith,  like  the  night- 
blooming  cereus,  flowers  in  darkness.  Night  reveals 
ten  thousand  suns,  the  day  but  one.  And  I  imagine 
that  earth  is  as  much  more  beautiful  to  heaven  by 
night  as  heaven  is  to  earth.  When  the  darkness  of 
war  or  pestilence  or  some  other  great  calamity  settles 
down  on  men,  the  angels  count  new  stars  in  earth. 

11  Songs  in  the  night  "  are  inspired  by  faith  in 
God.  We  must  believe  that  God  is  good,  and  if  all 
good  and  almighty,  surely  he  will  bring  good  out  of 


xii  Jntrobuction. 


evil.  It  is  the  mistake  both  of  a  coarse  animalism 
and  of  a  refined  sensuality,  of  barbarism  and  of  a 
voluptuous  civilization,  to  esteem  pain  the  greatest 
evil  and  pleasure  the  highest  good.  But  in  God's 
estimate  they  are  of  small  account  compared  with 
character,  which  is  essentially  precious.  Its  value  is 
not  relative  but  absolute.  Its  glory  is  divine  and 
priceless.  Too  great  a  price  in  needful  suffering, 
therefore,  cannot  be  paid  for  it.  Pain  is  not,  like 
sin,  essential  evil.  It  may  be  made  the  means  of 
immeasurable  good,  and  hence  its  infliction  is  quite 
consistent  with  infinite  goodness  and  infinite  tender- 
ness. Indeed,  in  perfecting  character,  sorrow  seems 
to  be  essential  to  its  highest  exaltation  and  beauty — 
"  perfect  through  suffering." 

Sorrow  is  calculated  to  lead  us  into  a  close  and 
peculiar  fellowship  with  God.  As  it  is  our  highest 
honor  that  we  are  capable  of  entering  into  such  fel- 
lowship, so  our  highest  blessedness  is  realized  in  its 
experience.  Fenelon  said,  "  He  who  has  God  has  all 
things,  and  he  who  is  without  God  has  nothing." 
God  would  fain  give  us  all  things  by  giving  us  him- 
self. He  would  have  us  share  his  blessedness  by 
making  us  partakers  of  his  likeness.  The  great 
object  of  our  creation  and  of  all  our  discipline  is  to 
lift  us  up  into  this  high  fellowship  with  God. 

Now  sorrow  often  drives  us  to  him.  When  pros- 
perous and  successful,  when  our  affections  are  satis- 
fied and  our  will  is  executed,  we  feel  sufficient  unto 
ourselves.     But  when  earthly  props  fall  away,  when 


Untrobuction.  xiii 


bereavement  comes  and  we  wake  every  morning  to 
a  fresh  sorrow,  when  we  stagger  under  some  great 
heart  burden,  then,  learning  our  own  weakness  and 
the  insufficiency  of  every  earthly  stay,  we  are,  as  it 
were,  driven  to  God.  We  pour  out  our  soul  to  him 
so  constantly  that  we  form  a  habit  of  communion, 
and  have  such  a  consciousness  of  his  presence,  such 
a  sense  of  exaltation  in  his  fellowship  that  we  find  a 
blessedness  greater  than  our  sorrow.  Then  we 
understand  that  thought  of  Carlyle's,  that  man  can 
forego  happiness  if  he  wins  blessedness. 

David  says,  "  Thy  rod  and  thy  staff,  they  comfort 
me;1  In  human  experience,  as  in  the  psalm,  God's 
staff  accompanies  his  rod.  And  David  says,  "  They 
comfort  me."  It  is  possible  to  get  comfort  even 
from  the  rod.  Again  the  psalmist  says,  "  Before  I 
was  afflicted  T  went  astray  ;  but  now  have  I  kept 
thy  word."  When  he  sees  the  fruit  which  his  sorrow- 
has  borne,  he  can  exclaim,  "It  is  good  for  me  that  I 
have  been  afflicted."  Will  not  sufficient  faith  in 
God's  love  and  in  his  power  to  bring  good  out  of 
evil  enable  us  to  say,  "  It  is  good  for  me  that  I  am 
afflicted?"  Then  with  Paul  we  "glory  in  tribula- 
tions," and  there  rises  a  song  in  the  night,  though 
the  feet  be  fast  in  the  stocks. 

This  great  and  precious  truth — the  issue  of  good 
out  of  evil  or  seeming  evil — finds  its  most  perfect 
illustration  in  the  cross  of  Christ,  the  central  fact  of 
the  Bible  and  of  all  history.  It  is  very  difficult  for  us 
to  disassociate  the  cross  from  the  meaning  which  has 


xiv  Jtttrobucticm. 


gathered  to  it  during  these  eighteen  Christian  cen- 
turies. It  is  associated  with  that  which  is  deepest  in 
our  Christian  experience  and  most  sacred  in  our  relig- 
ious feeling.  It  has  entered  into  art  and  architecture. 
It  has  become  the  most  beautiful  and  significant  of  all 
symbols.  But  to  the  ancient  Jew  and  Roman  it  was 
hideous  and  only  hideous.  It  meant  to  him  all  that 
the  gallows  means  to  us.  What  would  we  think,  if 
we  saw  a  gallows  on  a  church,  or  one  within 
wreathed  with  flowers  ?  What  of  a  golden  gallows 
set  with  diamonds  and  worn  as  an  ornament  ?  Thus 
would  our  uses  of  the  symbol  of  the  cross  appear  to 
ancient  eyes  before  the  offering  of  the  wrorld's  great 
sacrifice  transformed  the  cross  into  the  world's  great 
altar. 

But  that  instrument  of  bodily  torture  and  death 
was  made  to  minister  to  spiritual  peace  and  life. 
That  old  time  emblem  of  shame  has  become  the 
Christian's  glory,  and  the  death  agonies  of  the  cross 
were  the  birth  pangs  of  a  new  life  in  the  world,  j  Our 
crosses  are  capable  of  a  like  transformation ;  for  they 
are  among  the  "all  things"  which  we  know  "work 
together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God."  To  him 
who  has  this  confidence  no  night-watches  need  be 
songless. 

The  books,  the  poems  that  move  us  deeply  spring 
from  deep  experiences.  The  pearls,  which  in  this 
volume  are  strung  upon  the  editor's  appropriate  and 
beautiful  thread  of  thought,  came  no  doubt  from 
deep,  dark  waters.     In  their  selection  the  editor  has 


Jfutrobnction. 


XV 


been  governed  not  simply  by  the  dictates  of  a  culti- 
vated taste,  which  Mr.  Lowell  calls  "  the  conscience 
of  the  mind,"jbut  also  by  an  instinct  of  the  heart,  a 
profound  and  intelligent  sympathy  with  suffering 
which  can  come  only  from  its  long*  experience. 
These  "songs  in  the  night,"  having  served  to  cheer 
the  darkness  in  which  they  were  gathered,  are  sent 
forth  in  the  hope  that  they  may  bring  faith  and 
courage  to  some  who  sit  in  the  shadow. 

Josiah  Strong. 


SONGS    IN    THE     NIGHT-WATCHES. 


'AGE 

T.  Songs  in  Darkness 7 

II.  Songs  in  Heaviness 41 

III.  Songs  in  Temptation 63 

IV.  Songs  in  Humiliation 79 

V.  Songs  in  Poverty 97 

VI.  Songs  in  Captivity in 

VII.  Songs  in  Fear  125 

VIII.  Songs  in  "  The  House  of  My  Pilgrimage."  141 

IX.  Songs  of  Remembrance 189 

X.  Songs  in  Sickness 203 

XI.  Songs  in  Bereavement 227 

XII.  Songs  in  Death 257 

(  4i  The  Song  of  Songs  " 2S1 

XIII.      •]  AND 

(      "  The  New  Song." 2S6 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS. 


Adams,  E.  E.,  168. 
A.  J.  S.,  1 06. 
Alford,  Dean,  133. 
A.  >L.  13. 
Andrews,  260. 
Angelus.  Silesius,  167. 
Arnold,  Edwin,  130,  229. 

Bailey,  85. 

Baker,  Ella  M.,  134. 

Barbauld,  Mrs.,  274. 

Barr,  Amelia  E.,  45,  143,  191. 

Bassi,  Ugo,  222. 

Bates,  Charlotte  Fiske,  139. 

Bennett,    Adelaide   George,  24, 

26,  48,  54. 
'•  B.  M.T'  4,  194,  267. 
Bonar,  Horatius,  45.  59,  68,  92. 
Bourdillon,  F.  W.,  194. 
Bowring,  265. 

Boyce,  Laura  B.,  66,  85,  104,  211. 
Bradley,  Mary,  27. 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  163. 
Browning,  E.  B.,  43,  104, 105, 113, 
«     235. 

Bryant,  86,  224. 
Buckham,  James,  117. 
Burbidge,  Thomas,  18. 
Burroughs,  John,  148. 
Burton,  Henry,  no. 
Butler.  Frances  Kemble,  55,  267. 
Byron,  120. 

Campbell,  Helen,  a 
Carr,  Laura  Garland,  164. 
Cary,  Alice,  27,  167,  200,  250,  254, 

259,  268,  277. 
Cary,  Phoebe,  39,  75,  233, 240, 253, 

276. 


Charles,  Mrs..  45. 
Chase,  Harriet.  165. 
Chrisholm,  William  Byrd,  101. 
Clarke,  Sara  J.,  128. 
Clemmer,  Mary,  207. 
Cochrane,  W.  R.,  47. 
Coolidge,  Susan,  21,  39,  53, 148. 
Cowper,  103,  n8. 
Crashaw,  Richard,  273. 
Crofts,  G.  W.,  270. 

Donne,  Bishop,  137. 
Dorr,  Julia  C.  R.,  232. 
Duffield,  Samuel,  210. 
Duke  of  Brunswick,  67. 

Emerson,  144. 

Faber,  84. 

Fletcher,  Josiah  Moody,  100,  144. 

Fouque\  260. 

French,  Hayes  C,  33. 

Gale,  Ada,  116. 
Gannett,  William  C,  22,  169. 
Gerhardt,  Paul,  21,  108,  238. 
Gladden,  Washington,  131. 
Glyndon,  Howard,  146. 
Grange,  Olrig,  82. 
j  Gray,  David,  199. 
Grisson,  Arthur  C,  238. 
Griswold,  Hattie  Tyng,  254. 
Grover,  Florence,  184. 
Gurney,  88,  275. 
Guyon,  Madam,  114. 
G.  Z.  G.,  219. 

Hamilton,  Eliza  Mary,  249. 
Harte,  Bret,  9. 


Unbcx  of  &utl]0rs. 


Havergal,  Frances  Ridley,  93. 
Heermann,  Johann,  67. 
Herbert,  George,  192. 
Holland,   J.  G.,  38,  65,   77,  211, 

279. 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  202. 
Hopkins,  Edwin  S.,  61. 
Hugo,  Victor,  130. 

Ingelow,  Jean,  74,  192,  246. 

Jackson,  Helen  (H.  H.),  156,  255. 

J.  H.  M.,  161. 

Johnson,  Mrs.  Herrick,  152. 

Keats,  49. 

Keene,  Mrs.  Luther,  109. 

Kimball,  Harriet  McEwen,  91. 

Larcom,  Lucy,  12. 

Leigh  ton,  Archbishop,  264. 

Longfellow,  10,  17,  52,  74,  87, 115, 

118,  128,  179,  186,  198,  242. 
Louis.  Alfred  H.,  15. 
Lowell,  106. 
Lyte,  H.  F.,  72,  129. 

Mabel,  93,  161. 
MacCarthy,  100. 
MacDonald.  George,  3,  81,  170. 
Macduff,  128. 
Mace,  Frances  L.,  13,  275. 
Marperger,  66. 
Meredith,  Owen,  205. 
Miller,  A.  P.,  28,  49,  122,  193,  197. 
Miller,  Emily  Huntingdon.  237. 
Mills,  Mrs.  L.  S.,  32. 
Montgomery,  James,  263. 
Moore,  Thomas,  94. 
More  Henry,  238. 
Moulton,  Louise  Chandler,  172. 
Mulock,  Miss,  102,  213,  217,  223, 
265,  273. 

Newman,  George,  133. 

Ordronnaux,  John,  68. 
Osgood,  Frances  S.,  105. 

'eale  Rembrandt,  17. 

ck,  Julia  D.,  163. 
Phelps,  Elisabeth  Stuart,  252. 


Poole,  Hester  M.,  187. 
Pope,  Alexander,  269. 
Preston,  Margaret  J.,  212. 
Proctor,  Adelaide,  96,  184. 
Proctor,  Edna  Dean,  244. 

Rand,  Edward  Dean,  13. 
Randolph,  A.  D.  F.,  20,  151,  197, 

R.  W.3M.,  15. 
Ryan,  Father,  176. 

Sangster,  Margaret  E.,  50,   150, 

158,  172,  179,  247. 
Schmolke,  28,  106,  275. 
Shakespeare,  49,  75. 
Smith,  Alexander,  81. 
Spencer,  Edmund,  jj. 
Stedman,  Edmund  C.,  29. 
Stilling,  Heinrich,  56. 
Stryke.-,  M.  Woolsey,  66,  99. 
Sutphen,  Joseph  W.,  83. 
Sutton,  Henry  Septimus,  23,  37, 

60,  201. 

Tarbox,  Increase  N.,  266. 
Temple,  Anna,  55. 
Thompson,  Alexander  R.,  10. 
Tickell,  266. 
Trench,  46. 

Vaughan,  Henry,  xi. 
Vernon,  Nettie,  29. 

Waring,  Anna  Letitia,  130. 
Weiss,  Susan  Archer,  261. 
Weitzel,  S.  W.,  14. 
Werner,  A.,  87,  121. 
Wesley,  Charles,  137. 
Wheeler,  Ella,  56,  208. 
Whitney,  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.,  rx,  20, 

35}  37>  IX5i  x49- 
Whittier,  138,  195,  206,  235,  243, 

270. 
Williams,  Sarah,  23. 
Willis,  N.  P.,  255. 
Winkler,  18. 
Wordsworth,  195. 
Worthen,  Augusta  Harvey,  69. 

Zihn,  72. 


SONGS  IN 
THE  NIGHT-WATCHES. 


"  And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music." 

"All  Utmost  things  naturally  utter  themselves 
in  song.     The  ineaning  of  song  goes  deep" 

"  O  sing  !  sing  away  !  sing  away  ! 
Sing,  Spirit,  who  know  est  Joy's  Giver — 
Sing  on,  by  time's  Runaway  River  !  " 

"  O  holy  Night  /  from  thee  I  learn  to  bear 
What  man  has  borne  before  I  " 


Hark  !  the  stars  are  talking 
With  huma?i  tone  and  tongue. 

Courage  !  for  life  is  hasting 

To  endless  life  away. 
The  imier  fire  univasting 

Transfigures  thy  dull  clay  I " 
See  the  stars  melting,  sinking 

In  life-wine,  golden  bright ! 
We,  of  their  splendor  drinking 

Shall  grow  to  stars  of  light. 
Lost,  lost,  are  all  our  losses  ; 

Love  sets  forever  free  : 
The  full  life  heaves  and  tosses 

Like  an  eternal  sea. 
One  endless  living  story  / 

One  poem  spread  abroad  ! 
A?id  the  sum  of  all  our  glory 

Is  the  countena7ice  of  God  ! 

Geo.  Macdonald. 


THE  NIGHT-SERVICE. 

But  who  shall  praise  God  in  the  night  ?  the  Night 
That   stretcheth    mournful  wings  from    shore    to 

shore, 
Till  silent  lie  the  singers  of  the  world, 
Beneath  the  shadow. 

It  is  the  night, 

And  in  the  Temple  of  the  Lord  not  made 

By  mortal  hands,  the  lights  are  burning  low 

Before  the  Altar.      Clouds  of  darkness  fill 

The  vastness  of  the  sacred  aisles.      The  dumb 

And  breathless  Spirit  of  the  Night  is  here 

In  all  his  power  j  no  rushing  mighty  wind 

Of  organ  harmonies  is  sweeping  down 

The  shadowy  place.     A  few  short  hours  ago 

And  all  the  temple  courts  were  thronged  with  those 

Who   worshiped,    and   gave    thanks,   before    they 

went 
To  take  their  rest.      Then  many  voices  joined 
To  sing  the  praise  of  God ;  but  who  shall  bless 
His  name  at  midnight  ? 

Lo  !  a  band  of  pale 
Yet  joyful  priests,  do  minister  around 
The  Altar,  where  the  lights  are  burning  low 


QLl)C  Niglit-Sertrice. 


/;/  the  breathless  night.     Each  grave  brow  wears 

the  crown 
Of  sorrow  ;•  and  each  heart  is  kept  awake 
By  its  own  restless  pain Xf or  these  are  they 
To  whom  the  night-watch  is  appointed.     See  ! 
They  lift  their  hands  and  praise  God  in  the  night. 
Whilst  we  are  sleep i?ig,  those  to  whom  the  King 
Has  measured  out  a  cup  of  sorrow,  sweet 
With  His  dear  love,  yet  very  hard  to  drink, 
Are  waking  in  His  Temple  ;  and(the  eyes  ^  ' 

That  cannot  sleep  for  sorrow,  or  for  paiii, 
Are  lifted  up  to  heaven  ;  and  sweet,  low  songs 
Broken  by  patient  tears,  arise  to  God. 
Bless  ye  the  Lord,  ye  servants  of  the  Lord  ! 
Which  stand  by  night  within  His  Holy  Place 
To  give  Him  worship  !     Ye  are  priests  to  Llim 
And  minister  aroujid  the  Altar;  pale, 
Yet  joyful  in  the  Night. 

The  Priests  must  serve 

Each  in  his  course;  and  we  must  stand  in  turn 

Awake  with  sorrow  in  the  Temple  dim, 

To  bless  the  Lord  by  Night.      We  will  not  fear, 

When  we  are  called  at  Midnight,  by  some  stroke 

Of  sudden  pain  to  rise  and  minister 

Before  the  Lord.      We,  too,  will  bless  His  Name 

In  the  solemn  Night,  and  stretch  out  our  ha?ids  to 

Him  ! 

"B.  M." 


I. 


SONGS    IN   DARKNESS. 


"  The  sudden  joys  that  out  of  darkness  start, 
As  flames  from  ashes." 


"  The  setting  of  a  great  hope  is  like  the  setting  of  the 
sun.  The  brightness  of  our  life  is  gone.  Shadows  of 
evening  fall  around  us,  and  the  world  seems  but  a  dim 
reflection — itself  a  broader  shadow.  We  look  forward 
into  the  coming  lonely  night.  The  soul  withdraws  into 
itself.     Then  stars  arise,  and  the  night  is  holy." 


"  But  Thou  dost  make  the  very  night  itself 
Brighter  than  day." 

"  In  days  of  darkness  were  songs." 

"  The  woof  of  life  is  dark,  but  it  is  shot  with  a  warp  of 
gold/' 


SONGS    IN    DARKNESS. 


1  Only  a  signal  shown,  and  a  distant  voice  in  the  darkness.' 


NOT  yet,  O  friend  !  not  yet : 
The  patient  stars 
Lean  from  their  lattices  content  to  wait : 

All  is  illusion  till  the  morning  bars 
Slip  from  the  levels  of  the  eastern  gate. 

Night  is  too  young,  O  friend  !  day  is  too  near, 
Wait  for  the  day  that  maketh  all  things  clear — 
Not  yet,  O  friend  !  not  yet. 


Not  yet,  O  friend  !  not  yet: 

All  is  not  true  ; 
All  is  not  ever  as  it  seemeth  now  ; 

Soon  shall  the  river  take  another  blue, 
Soon  dies  yon  light  upon  the  mountain  brow  ; 

What  lieth  dark,  O  love  !  bright  day  will  fill  ; 

Wait  for  thy  morning,  be  it  gpod  or  ill — 
Not  yet,  O  love  !  not  yet. 

Bkei    II arte. 


io  Songs  in  EDarkness. 

V  \A/"^  see  ^  night's  sweet  showing, 

VY      Grandly  revealed, 

What  day  concealed, 
Ten  thousand  streams  of  glory  flowing, 
That  never  cease  to  flow: 
But  only  night  can  show 
What  lavish  light  God  is  bestowing. 

Alexander  R.  Thompson,  D.D. 


I   HEARD  the  trailing  garments  of  the  Night 
Sweep  through  her  marble  halls  ! 
I  saw  her  sable  skirts  all  fringed  with  light 
From  the  celestial  walls  ! 

I  felt  her  presence,  by  its  spell  of  might, 

Stoop  o'er  me  from  aftove  ; 
The  calm,  majestic  presence  of  the  Night, 

As  of  the  one  I  love. 


From  the  cool  cisterns  of  the  midnight  air 

My  spirit  drank  repose  ; 
The  fountain  of  perpetual  peace  flows  there — 

From  those  deep  cisterns  flows. 

Longfellow. 


Songs  in  darkness.  u 

A  RAVELED  rainbow  overhead 
Lets  down  to  Life  its  varying  thread, — 
Love's  blue,  joy's  gold,  and  fair  between, 
Hope's  shifting  light  of  emerald  green  : 
While  either  side,  in  deep  relief, 
A  crimson  Pain,  a  violet  Grief! 
Would'st  thou  amid  their  gleaming  hues 
Clutch  after  those,  and  these  refuse  ? 
Believe  !  as  thy  beseeching  eyes 
Follow  their  lines  and  sound  the  skies, 
There,  where  the  fadeless  glories  shine, 
An  unseen  Angel,  twists  the  twine. 
And  be  thou  sure,  what  tint  soe'er 
The  sunbeam's  broken  rays  may  wear, 
It  needs  them  all,  that  broad  and  white, 
God's  love  may  weave  the  perfect  light. 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney. 


DEAR  night  !  this  world's  defeat  ; 
The  stop  to  busy  fools  ;  care's  check  and  curb  ; 
The  day  of  spirits  :   my  soul's  calm  retreat 

Which  none  disturb  ! 
Christ's  progress  and  his  prayer-time  ; 
The  hours  to  which  high  heaven  doth  chime. 

Were  all  my  loud,  evil  days, 

Calm  and  unhaunted  as  is  thy  dark  tent, 


12  Songs  in  EDarkness. 

Whose  peace  but  by  some  angel's  wing  or  voice 

Is  seldom  rent  ; 
Then  I  in  heaven  all  the  long  year 
Would  keep  and  never  wander  here. 

There  is  in  God,  some  say, 

A  deep  but  dazzling  darkness  ;  as  men  here 

Say  it  is  late  and  dusky,  because  they 

See  not  all  clear. 
Oh  for  that  night  !  where  I  in  Him 
Might  live  invisible  and  dim  ! 

Henry  Vaughan,  1621. 


SPEAK  to  us  out  of  midnight's  heart, 
Thou  who  forever  sleepless  art  ! 
The  thoughts  of  Night  are  still  and  deep  ; 
She  doth  thy  holiest  secrets  keep. 

The  voices  of  the  Day  perplex  ; 
Her  crossing  lights  mislead  and  vex  ; 
We  trust  ourselves  to  find  thy  way, 
Or,  proudly  free,  prefer  to  stray. 

The  Night  brings  dewfall,  still  and  sweet, 
Soft  shadows  fold  us  to  thy  feet  ; 
Thy  whisper  in  the  dark  we  hear  : 
"Soul,  cling  to  me  !  none  else  is  near." 

Lucy  Larcom,  in  "January." 


. 


Songs  in   Darkness.  13 

THE  birds  have  hushed  their  chorus  ; 
Stars,  through  the  twilight  soft, 
Will  soon  be  glimmering  o'er  us  ; — 

The  moon's  aloft. 
Hand  in  hand,  let  us  hold  together, 
Through  the  dark  and  starlit  weather. 

The  little  flowers  are  sleeping  ; 

The  sun  is  out  of  sight. 
God  have  us  in  his  keeping 

All  through  the  night  ! 
To-morrow  let  us  fare  together, 
Still  onward  through  the  changing  weather. 

A.  M.,  in  "The  Quiver.'1 


O 


VER  us,  patient  and  changeless  and  far 
Shines  eternity's  star  ! 

Francis  L.  Mace. 


LO  !  the  marvelous  contrast  of  shadow  and  light, — 
Of  shadows  that  darken  and  lights  that  adorn, 
And  after  the  day  comes  the  shadowy  night, 
And  after  the  night  come  the  splendors  of  morn. 


14  Songs  in  JDarkness. 

And.  raptures  and  sorrows  through  all  the  brief  years 
Keep  crossing  to  weave  in  the  web  of  our  life, 

Till  another,  the  greatest  of  shadows  appears, 
To  hush  into  stillness  the  tumult  and  strife. 

O  thou  shadow  of  shadows,  the  darkest  of  all, 
Concealing  what  has  been  and  what  is  to  be, 

That  liest  on  life  and  its  joys  like  a  pall, — 

Ah  !  what  is  the  splendor  that  lies  behind  thee  ! 

Edward  Dean  Rand. 


NO  evil  !  But  behold,  how  tempest-tost  ! 
Storms  beat  unhindered  on  the  good  man's  head. 
Heaven's  lightnings  shatter,  or  the  early  frost 

Falls  on  the  flower  he  loves,  and  leaves  it  dead. 
No  evil  ? — in  a  world  where  sorrow  sits 
Vigilant,  jealous  ;  where  a  shadow  flits 

Darkling  beside  each  shape  of  happiness  ? — 
Oh,  deepest  truth,  most  literal,  tenderest ! 

There  is  no  evil.     Love  is  here  to  bless. 
Oh,  wondrous  transmutation  !     In  his  hand 
Who  gives, — by  his  supreme  command, — 

The  clay  is  turned  to  gold,  the  ill  to  good. 
The  lightning  is  his  messenger  ;  his  frost 

Chills  not  the  root  :  (who  knows  God's  fatherhood 
Knows  he  rides  safe,  however  tempest-tossed. 
There  is  no  darkness  ;  in  love's  light  'tis  lost. 

S.  W.  Weitzel. 


. 


Songs  in  Darkness.  15 

UPON  the  sadness  of  the  sea 
The  sunset  broods  regretfully  : 
From  the  far  lone  spaces,  slow 
Withdraws  the  wistful  afterglow. 

So  out  ot  life  the  splendor  dies, 
So  darken  all  the  happy  skies, 
So  gathers  twilight,  cold  and  stern  : 
But  overhead  the  planets  burn. 

And  up  the  east  another  day, 
Shall  chase  the  bitter  dark  away  ; 
What  though  our  eyes  with  tears  be  wet, 
The  sunrise  never  failed  us  yet. 

The  blues  of  dawn  may  yet  restore 
Our  light  and  hope  and  joy  once  more. 
Sad  soul,  take  comfort,  nor  forget 
That  sunrise  never  failed  us  yet. 

R.  W.  M. 


KNOWN  only,  only  to  God,  and  the  night,  and  the 
stars  and  me  : 

Prophetic,  jubilant  song, 
Smiting  the  rock-bound  hours,  till  the  waters  of  life 
flow  free, 

And  a  soul  on  pinions  strong, 


16  Songs  in  Darkness. 

Flieth  afar,  and  hovers  over  the  infinite  sea 
Of  Love  and  of  Melody  ; 
While  the  blind  fates  weave  their  nets 
And  the  world  in  sleep  forgets. 

Known  only,  only  to  God,  and  me,  and  the  night,  and 
the  stars  : 

The  beacon-fire  of  song, 
Flaming    for   guidance  and    hope  while  the  storm- 
winds  wage  their  wars, 

Balm  for  many  a  wrong, 
Dropping   from  healing  wings  on  wounds  of  heart 
and  brain, 

Quenching  the  bitter  pain  : 
Love-star  that  rises  and  sets 
While  the  world  in  sleep  forgets. 

Known  only,  only  to  me,  and  God,  and  the  stars,  and 
the  night  : 

Dove  that  returns  to  my  ark, 
Murmuring  of  grief-floods  falling,  of  light  beyond  all 
light ; 

Voice  that  cleaveth  the  dark, 
Singing  of  earth  become  heaven,  of  distant  hands 
that  bless, 

Though  they  cannot  caress  ; 

While  the  world  in  sleep  forgets. 

Alfred  H.  Louis. 


G 


Songs  in  JDarkness.  17 


ROPING  blindly  in  the  darkness, 

Touch  God's  right  hand  in  that  darkness. 

Longfellow. 


O  DON'T  be  sorrowful,  darling  ! 
Now,  don't  be  sorrowful,  pray  ; 
For,  taking  the  year  together,  my  dear, 

There  isn't  more  night  than  day. 
It's  rainy  weather,  my  loved  one  ; 

Time's  wheels  they  heavily  run  ; 
But  taking  the  year  together,  my  dear, 
There  isn't  more  cloud  than  sun. 


We're  old  folks  now,  companion, — 

Our  heads  they  are  growing  gray; 
But  taking  the  year  all  round,  my  dear, 

You  always  will  find  the  May. 
We've  had  our  May,  my  darling, 

And  our  roses,  long  ago; 
And  the  time  of  the  year  is  come,  my  clear, 

For  the  long  dark  nights  and  the  snow. 

But  God  is  God,  my  faithful, 

Of  night  as  well  as  of  day; 
And  we  feel  and  know  that  we  can  go 

Wherever  He  leads  the  way. 
2 


18  Songs  in  EDctrkness. 

Ay,  God  of  night,  my  darling  ! 

Of  the  night  of  death  so  grim ; 
And  the  gate  that  from  life  leads  out,  good  wife, 

Is  the  gate  that  leads  to  Him. 

Rembrandt  Peale. 


If  indeed 
Tis  given  thee  to  perform  so  vast  a  task, 
Think  not  at  all,  think  not,  but  kneel  and  ask  ! 
O  friend  !  by  thought  was  never  creature  freed 
From  any  sin,  from  any  mortal  need  ; 
Be  patient  !  not  by  thought  canst  thou  devise 
What  course  of  life  for  thee  is  right  and  wise; 
It  will  be  written  up,  and  thou  wilt  read. 
Oft  like  a  sudden  pencil  of  rich  light, 
Piercing  the  thickest  umbrage  of  the  wood, 
Will  shoot,  amidst  our  troubles  infinite, 
The  spirit's  voice  ;   oft,  like  the  balmy  flood 
Of  morn,  surprise  the  universal  night 
With  glory,  and  make  all  things  sweet  and  good. 

Thomas  Burbidge. 


MY  soul  complaineth  not, 
For  she  knows  not  pain  nor  fear, 
Clinging  to  her  God  in  faith, 

Trusting  though  He  slay  her  here. 
'Tis  when  flesh  and  blood  repine, 
Sun  of  joy,  Thou  canst  not  shine. 

Winkler,  1713. 


Scmgs  in  Darkness.  19 

1C  AX  NOT  see,  with  my  small  human  sight, 
Why  God  should  lead  this  way  or  that ; 
I  only  know  that  He  hath  said,  "Child  this  the  path," 
But  I  can  trust. 

I  know  not  why  my  path  should  be  at  times 
So  straitly  hedged,  so  strangely  barred  before, 
I  only  know  God  could  keep  wide  the  door  ; 
But  I  can  only  trust. 

I  find  no  answer:  often  when  beset 
With  questions  fierce  and  subtle  on  my  way, 
And  often  have  but  strength  to  faintly  pray, 
But  I  can  trust. 

I  often  wonder,  as  with  trembling  hand 
I  cast  the  seed  along  the  furrowed  ground, 
If  ripened  fruit  for  God  will  there  be  found  : 
But  I  can  trust. 

I  cannot  know  why  suddenly  the  storm 
Should  rage  so  fiercely  round  me  in  its  wrath  ; 
But  this  I  know — God  watches  all  my  path — 
And  I  can  trust. 

I  may  not  draw  aside  the  mystic  veil 
That  hides  the  unknown  future  from  my  sight  ! 
Nor  know  if  for  me  waits  thedark  or  light ; 
But  I  can  trust. 


20  Songs  in  SDarknees. 

I  have  no  power  to  look  across  the  tide, 
To  see  while  here  the  land  beyond  the  river ; 
But  this  I  know,  I  shall  be  God's  forever; 
So  I  can  trust. 


AH,  long  the  storm,  yet  none  the  less 
Hid  from  the  utmost  reach  of  ill  ; 
And  singing  in  the  wilderness 

Some  small  sweet  hope,  waits  blithely  still. 
Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney. 


I   WOULD  be  joyful  as  my  days  go  by  ; 
Counting  God's  mercies  to  me.     He  who  bore 
Life's  heaviest  cross  is  mine  for  evermore, 
And  I  who  wait  his  coming,  shall  not  I 

On  his  sure  word  rely  ? 
And  if  sometimes  the  way  be  rough  and  steep, 
Be  heavy  for  the  grief  he  sends  to  me, 
So  in  the  night-time  I  must  weep, 
Let  me  remember  these  are  things  to  be, 
To  work  his  blessed  will  until  he  come 
And  take  my  hand,  and  lead  me  safely  home. 

A.  D.  F.  Randolph. 


Songs   in   Darkness.  21 

THROUGH  black  waves  and  stormy  blast, 
And  out  of  the  fog-wreath  dense  and  dun, 
Guided  and  held,  shall  the  vessel  run, 
Gain  the  fair  haven,  night  being  past. 
And  anchor  in  the  sun. 

Susan  Coolidge. 


UP  !     Up  !  the  day  is  breaking, 
Say  to  thy  cares,  good-night  ! 
Thy  troubles  from  thee  shaking, 
Like  dreams  in  fresh  daylight. 
Thou  wearest  not  the  crown 

Nor  the  best  course  can  tell  ; 
God  sitteth  on  the  throne, 
And  guideth  all  things  well. 

Paul  Gerhardt. 


THE  child  leans  on  its  mother's  breast, 
Leaves  there  its  care  and  sinks  to  rest ; 
The  bird  sits  singing  by  her  nest, 

And  chants  aloud 
Her  trust  in  God,  and  so  is  blest 
'Neath  darkest  cloud. 


22  Songs  in  JUarkness. 

The  heart  that  trusts  forever  sings, 
For  sunshine  lights  as  on  its  wings, 
A  well  of  joy  within  it  springs, 

Come  good  or  ill. 
Whatever  to-day,  to-morrow  brings, 

It  is  God's  will. 


RESTLESS,  restless,  speed  we  on  ; 
Whither  in  the  vast  unknown  ? 
Not  to  you  and  not  to  me 

Are  the  sealed  orders  shown  ; 
But  the  Hand  that  built  the  road, 

And  the  Light  that  leads  the  feet 
And  this  inward  restlessness 
Are  such  invitation  sweet, 
That  where  I,  no  longer  see, 
Highway  still  must  lead  to  thee. 

William  C.  Gannett. 


SILENCE  and  darkness,  solitude  and  sorrow 
In  combination  !     Can  I  cheerful  be  ? 
And  wherefore  not  ?     Since  I  can  voices  borrow- 
Society  and  light,  and  peace  from  Thee  ! 


Songs  in  Darkness.  23 

I  will  not  waste  one  breath  oflife  in  sighing; 

For  other  duties  has  life  been  given  to  me  : 
Duties  and  self-devotion,  daily  dying 

Into  a  higher,  better  life  with  Thee. 

Anonymous. 


THE  little  flowers  breathe  sweetness  out 
Through  all  the  dewy  night  ; 
Should  I  more  churlish  be  than  they, 
And  'plain  for  constant  light  ? 

Sarah  Williams. 


I   HAVE  a  little  trembling  light,  which  still 
All  tenderly  I  keep,  and  ever  I  will. 
I  think  it  never  wholly  dies  away; 
But  oft  it  seems  as  if  it  could  not  stay, 
And  I  do  strive  to  keep  it  if  I  may. 

Sometimes  the  wind-gusts  push  it  sore  aside  : 
Then  closely  to  my  breast  my  light  I  hide, 
And  for  it  make  a  tent  of  my  two  hands  : 
And  though  it  scarce  might  on  the  lamp  abide, 
It  soon  recovers,  and  uprightly  stands. 


24  Songs  in  darkness. 

Sometimes  it  seems  there  is  no  flame  at  all; 
I  look  quite  close,  because  it  is  so  small: 
Then  all  for  sorrow  do  I  weep  and  sigh  ; 
But  Some  One  seems  to  listen  when  I  cry, 
And  the  light  burns  up,  and  I  know  not  why. 

Oh,  do  thou  feed 
Thy  light,  that  it  burn  ever  ! 

Henry  Septimus  Sutton,  1854. 


O  BLACK  and  bitter  night, 
Like  that  'round  Egypt  furled 
When  sorrow  and  affright 

Seized  all  the  winged  world  ! 
A  brooding,  noisome  blight 

Whose  dark  pall  heavy  hangs, 
Like  a  phantom  in  the  night, — 
Strikes  deep  its  cruel  fangs 
In  the  heart's  dungeon  cell, 
Within  whose  crumbling  shell 
The  naked  nerve  doth  dwell. 

Lone  in  those  darksome  mines 

My  glimmering  taper  lamp 
No  longer  brightly  shines  ; 

Paled  by  the  foul  choke  damp, 
Within  these  sunken  caves, 

No  resurrection  dawn 
Shines  o'er  the  blackened  graves 

Of  buried  hopes  forlorn. 


6ongs  in  ^Darkness. 


Dawn,  o'er  the  mountain  height, 
Thou,  the  diviner  light, 
Come  !  end  this  bitter  night. 


How  long,  O  God,  how  long 

Has  mortal  heart  the  power 
To  bear  this  anguish  strong  ? 
Is  this  our  earthly  dower  ? 
While  we  in  bondage  cry 

Must  this  our  portion  be  ? 
The  unillumined  sky, 
But  mocks  our  misery. 

Earth  doth  but  echoes  throw, 
No  light  is  here  below, 
Deeper  the  shadows  grow. 


Through  blinding  fog  and  mist, 

'Neath  pulses  throbbing  so, 
One  ear  alone  can  list 

The  undertone  of  woe. 
Is  that  one  ear  withdrawn, 

And  do  I  grope  alone, 
Like  blinded  Samson  shorn, 
For  the  pillars  of  the  throne  ? 
Nay  :  though  I  tread  with  thee 
Bitter  Gethsemane, 
Still  wilt  thou  comfort  me. 

Abelaide  George  Bennett. 


26  Songs  in  JUarkness. 

RISE  up,  sad  one,  and  outward  cast 
Thy  sorrows,  broadcast,  o'er  the  vast 
Engulfing  night.     'Twill  soon  be  past. 
The  waning  moon,  a  faint,  thin  horn, 
Shows  day  must  surely,  quickly  dawn. 
E'en  now,  the  long  twilight 
Emerges  from  the  night, 
And  slowly  creeps  away 
To  join  the  opening  day. 

Let  Erebus  thy  sorrows  keep 
Chained  in  the  darkness  of  the  deep  ; 
They  would  thy  soul  in  anguish  steep. 
Cast,  ere  thy  soul  in  sorrow  sips, 
This  bitter  portion  from  thy  lips. 

Like  morning's  radiant  beams, 

The  bright  aurora  streams 

From  the  low,  northern  sky, 

Toward  the  zenith  high. 

Like  these  bright  rays,  thou  too  shouldst  rise 

Toward  the  zenith  of  the  skies, 

As  to  the  sun  the  eagle  flies. 

Thy  dwarfed  experience  leave  alone, 

Thyself  to  nobler  stature  grown. 

Up  !  wing  thy  eager  flight, 

Till,  far  beyond  the  night, 

Beyond  thy  shadowy  fears, 

The  glorious  sun  appears. 

Adelaide  George  Bennett. 


Songs  in  Darkness.  27 

AH  me  !  the  ways  of  God  with  man, 
No  man  that  lives  can  find  them  out  ; 
Who  grasps  at  things  beyond  his  ken 

Is  tossed  on  shoreless  seas  about  ; 
Yet  in  the  thickest  of  the  night, 

For  eyes  that  see,  there  shall  be  light. 

Mary  Bradley. 


GREAT  God,  we  know  not  what  we  know, 
Or  what  we  are,  or  are  to  be  ! 
We  only  trust  we   cannot  go 

Through  sin's  disgrace  outside  of  thee. 

And  trust  that  though  we  are  driven  in, 
And  forced  upon  thy  name  to  call 

At  last,  by  very  strength  of  sin, 
Thou  wilt  have  mercy  on  us  all  ! 

Alice  Cary. 


SEEK  not  to  know 
What  pleaseth  Heaven  to  hide  ; 
Dark  is  the  abyss  of  time, 
But  light  enough  to  guide  our  souls  is  given  ; 
Whatever  weal  or  woe  betide, 
Turn  never  from  the  path  of  truth  aside, 
And  leave  the  event,  in  holy  hope  to  Heaven. 


28  Songs  in  darkness. 

1KNOW  the  hand  that  is  guiding  me  through  the 
shadow  to  the  light, 
And    I    know  that  all    betiding    me    is    meted   out 

aright ; 
I   know   that  the   thorny   path   I   tread   is  ruled  by 

a  golden  line, 
And  I  know  that  the  darker  life's  tangled  thread,  the 
richer  the  deep  design. 

British  Evangelist. 


IT  was  a  day  of  darkness  and  of  doubt, 
Like  those  which  desperate  men  refuse  to  live, 
And  in  my  anguish  I  could  not  forgive 
The  Fate  which  seemed  to  bring  it  all  about. 
In  gloom  I  sat  and  nursed  my  misery  still, 
With  stolid  face  toward  the  pictured  wall, 
When  on  my  head,  and  pouring  over  all, 
A  flood  of  sunlight  through  the  window  fell. 
I  moved  into  the  shade  and  nursed  my  doubt, 
Till  through  another  window  fell  the  light  ; 
Then  the  glad  thought  broke  on  me,  clear  and 
bright : 
That  thus  God's  love  would  always  seek  me  out. 
All  darkness  and  all  doubt  must  pass  away, 
And  every  night  that  falls  must  end  in  day. 

A.  P.  Miller. 


Songs  in  Darkness.  29 


"N 


Yet  still  serenely  shine  the  midnight  stars, 
And  there  are  wonders  left  us  to  behold, 
If  we  but  think  to  look  between  the  bars. 

Edmund  C.  Stedman. 


WILL  it  be  always  night  ? 
God  knows  how  drear 
Is  earth's  poor  trembling  light. 
Will  He  not  hear 
Each  whispered  prayer,  and  note  each  falling  tear  ? 


Will  it  be  always  night — 

Cold  night  and  lone  ? 
Shall  I  ne'er  see  the  light 

From  His  white  Throne — 
A  glimmering  light  to  guide  me,  trusting  on  ? 


Heaven  hath  no  nig  Jit  ! 

It  hath  no  waning  day  ! 
But  pure  and  briltiant  light 

Shine th  for  aye. 
No  weary  pilgrim  seeketh  there  the  way. 

N'kttie  Veknon. 


3©  Songs  in  Darkness. 


/^\UT  of  the  sunshine,  warm  and  soft  and  bright, 
V^  Out  of  the  sunshine  into  darkest  night, 
I  oft  would  faint  with  sorrow  and  affright, 


Only  for  this  :  I  know  He  holds  my  hand  ; 
So  whether  led  in  green  or  desert  land, 
I  trust,  although  I  may  not  understand. 

Beside  still  waters  ?     No,  not  always  so  ; 
Ofttimes  the  tempests  round  me  blow, 
And  o'er  my  soul  the  waves  and  billows  go. 

But  when  the  storms  beat  loudest,  and  I  cry 
Aloud  for  help,  the  Master  standeth  by, 
And  whispers  to  my  soul,   "  Lo,  it  is  I  !  " 

Above  the  tempest  wild  I  hear  him  say, 
"Beyond  this  darkness  lies  the  perfect  day  ; 
In  every  path  of  thine,  I  lead  the  way." 

So,  whether  on  the  hill-tops  high  and  fair 

I  dwell,  or  in  the  sunless  valleys  where 

The  shadows  lie,  what  matter  ?     He  is  there. 

And  more  than  this  ;  where'er  the  pathway  lead, 
He  gives  to  me  no  helpless  broken  reed, 
But  his  own  hand,  sufficient  for  my  need. 


Songs  in  Darkness.  31 

So,  where  he  leads  me  I  can  safely  go; 
And  in  the  blest  hereafter  I  shall  know 
Why,  in  his  wisdom  he  hath  led  me  so. 

Anon. 


WHAT  though  before  me  it  is  dark, 
Too  dark  for  me  to  see  ? 
I  ask  for  light  for  one  step  more  : 
'Tis  quite  enough  for  me. 

Each  little  humble  step  I  take, 
The  gloom  clears  from  the  next ; 

So,  though  'tis  very  dark  beyond, 
I  never  am  perplexed. 

And  if  sometimes  the  mist  hangs  close, 

So  close  I  fear  to  stray, 
Patient  I  wait  a  little  while, 

And  soon  it  clears  away. 

I  would  not  see  my  further  path, 

For  mercy  veils  it  so ; 
My  present  steps  might  harder  be 

Did  I  the  future  know. 

It  may  be  that  my  path  is  rough, 

Thorny,  and  hard  and  steep; 
And,  knowing  this,  my  strength  might  fail, 

Through  fear  and  terror  deep. 


"V 


32  Songs  in  darkness . 

It  may  be  that  it  winds  along 

A  smooth  and  flowery  way  ; 
But  seeing  this  I  might  despise 

The  journey  ot  to-day. 

Or  if  I  saw  a  weary  length 

Of  road  that  I  must  wend, 
Fainting,  I'd  think,  "  My  feeble  powers 

Will  fail  me  ere  the  end." 

And  so  I  do  not  wish  to  see 

My  journey  or  its  length  : 
Assured,  that  through  my  Father's  love, 

Each  step  will  bring  its  strength. 

Thus,  step  by  step  I  onward  go, 

Not  looking  far  before  ; 
Trusting  that  I  shall  always  have 

Light  for  just  "  one  step  more.'' 

The  British  Messenger. 


I  TRUST  thee,  O  Father,  Thy  word  cannot  fail, 
But  storms  are  about  me,  the  night-winds  prevail; 
I'm  alone  in  the  darkness ;  Oh  !  lead  to  the  way, 
Where  I  may  cast  anchor  and  wait  for  the  day. 

I  sure  must  find  harbor,  or  may  it  not  be 
The  tempest  shall  drive  to  a  safe  open  sea — 
The  winds  proving  friendly  to  pilot  the  way 
Where  I  may  cast  anchor  and  wait  for  the  day. 


Songs  in  darkness.  33 

Black  clouds  are  above  me,  O  God,  what  a  sight 
The  lightnings  reveal  in  their  flash  of  clear  light  ! 
Rocks  all  around  me,  Oh,  where  is  the  way  ? 
Right  here  I'll  cast  anchor  and  wait  for  the  day. 

I  trust  in  God's  word,  in  his  love,  in  his  might; 
He  sees  in  the  darkness  as  well  as  the  light, 
Not  a  rock  in  the  sea  but  He  knows  its  lay; 
I'm  anchored  in  safety  and  wait  for  the  day. 

Mrs.  L.  S.  Mills. 


DID  not  life's  darkness  dim  our  sight  ; 
Its  sorrows  hide  Thine  own  sweet  light, 
How  much  of  goodness  could  we  see  ? 
How  much  of  love  that  tells  of  Thee  ? 

Potter's  American  Monthly. 


WE  are  waiting,  Father,  waiting, 
Through  the  long  and  dreary  night, 
Watching  'mid  the  gathering  shadows, 

For  the  morning's  promised  light ; 
We  are  trusting,  Father,  trusting, 
Though  no  ray  of  light  appears  ; 
And  the  night  is  filled  with  glory, 

Though  we  see  our  God  through  tears. 
3 


34  Songs  in  Darkness. 

We  are  gazing,  Father,  gazing, 

On  a  sky  with  clouds  o'ercast, 
And  no  sunbeam  falls  upon  us, 

Through  the  darkness  black  and  vast, 
E'en  our  Father's  face  is  hidden, 

But  we  know  his  loving  smile 
Lights  the  heavens  beyond  the  darkness, 

And  will  dawn  on  us  erewhile. 


We  are  bearing,  Father,  bearing, 

Burdens  Thou  hast  kindly  given  ; 
We  are  learning  to  be  patient, 

While  earth's  chains  are  being  riven  ; 
And  the  links  that  bind  our  spirits 

To  their  destiny  above, 
Thou  art  forging  from  our  sorrows, 

Thou  art  riveting  in  love. 


We  are  learning,  Father,  learning, 

Not  to  murmur  or  complain, 
Though  our  dearest  friendships  fail  us, 

And  our  fondest  hopes  are  vain, 
Thou  dost  hold  us  by  a  cable 

With  its  anchor  in  the  sky, 
And  we  wait,  'mid  shattered  idols, 

For  the  dawning  by  and  by. 

Hayes  C.  French,  M.D. 


Songs  in  JDarkncss.  35 

AND  so  we  yearn,  and  so  we  sigh, 
And  reach  for  more  than  we  can  see  ; 
And  witless  of  our  folded  wings 
Walk  Paradise  unconsciously. 

And  dimly  feel  the  clay  divine, 

With  vision  half  redeemed  from  night, 

Till  death  shall  fuse  the  double  life, 
And  God  himself  shall  give  us  light. 

Lose  the  less  joy  that  doth  but  blind  ; 
Reach  forth  a  larger  bliss  to  find. 
To-day  is  brief :  the  inclusive  spheres 
Rain  raptures  of  a  thousand  years. 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney. 


In  God  I'll  trust 
Though  all  is  darkness  overhead  ; 
Though  not  a  ray  on  me  is  shed, 

Believe  I  must, 
That  light  still  shines  behind  the  cloud, 
And  though  this  all  my  path  enshroud, 
Yet  will  I  trust. 

Yes,  ever  trust. 

Though  feeling  in  the  dark  for  God, 
I  only  reach  His  chastening  rod, 


36  Songs  in  darkness. 

And  by  that  crushed, 
Am  sorely  tried  by  doubt  and  fear, 
Though  Faith  sees  dimly  through  the  tear, 

Still  will  I  trust. 

In  God  I'll  trust. 

Though  darkness  followed  be  by  storm, 
Though  on  the  billows  walks  no  form, 

Nor  tempest  hushed 
For  me  succeeded  be  by  calm, 
Though  I  see  not  Christ's  outstretched  arm, 

Yet  will  I  trust. 

In  God  I'll  trust. 

Though  human  help  in  time  of  need 
I  find  at  best  a  broken  reed, 

Though  (i  have  nursed 
But  secret  foes  in  shape  of  friends, —   ) 
Though  love  itself  in  sorrow  ends, 
Still  heaven  I'll  trust. 

Yes,  I  will  trust. 

Anonymous. 


V    V 


SOME  souls,  cut  off  from  moorings, 
Go  drifting  into  the  night, 
Darkness  before  and  around  them, 
With  scarce  a  glimmer  of  light, 
They  are  acting  beneath  "  sealed  orders," 
And  sailing  by  faith,  not  sight. 


Songs  in  JUarkncss.  37 

Keeping  the  line  of  duty- 
Through  good  and  evil  report, 

They  shall  ride  the  storms  out  safely, 
Be  the  voyage  long  or  short — 

For  the  ship  that  carries  God's  orders 
Shall  anchor  at  last  in  port. 


11  Thou  art  my  God  !  "  When  I  say  o'er  those  words, 

I  see  a  light  beyond  the  night  ;  and  hear 
Voices  far  richer  than  the  songs  of  birds. 

Mine  eyes  with  happy  tears  then  overswim: 
The  hearts  I  have  are  sweetest  that  can  be  ; 

My  mind's  a  cup  with  love  above  the  brim  : 
Fine  incense  circles  'round  all  that  I  see  ; 

In  every  sound  I  hear  a  holy  hymn. 

Sutton,  1800. 


ALL  is  of  God  !  If  He  but  wave  His  hand 
The  mists  collect,  the  rains  fall  thick  and  loud, 
Till  with  a  smile  of  light  on  sea  and  land 

Lo  !  He  looks  back  from  the  departing  cloud. 

God  sets  some  souls  in  shade,  alone  ; 
They  have  no  daylight  of  their  own  : 
Only  in  lives  of  happier  ones 
They  see  the  shine  of  distant  suns. 


38  Songs  in  EDarkness. 

God  knows.     Content  thee  with  thy  night, 
Thy  greater  heaven  hath  grander  light. 
To-day  is  close  ;  the  hours  are  small  ; 
Thou  sitt'st  afar,  and  hast  them  all. 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney. 


"  You  have  said 
That  God  is  just,  and  I  have  looked  around 
To  seek  the  proof  in  human  lot,  in  vain. 
The  rain  falls  kindly  on  the  just  man's  fields, 
But  on  the  unjust  man's  more  kindly  still  ; 
And  I  have  never  known  the  winter's  blast, 
Or  the  quick  lightning,  or  the  pestilence, 
Make  nice  discriminations  when  let  slip 
From  God's  right  hand." 

"  'Tis  a  great  mystery; 
Yet  God  is  just,  and  blessed  be  His  name  ! 
Is  loving,  too.     I  know  that  I  am  weak, 
And  that  the  pathway  of  His  Providence 
Is  on  the  hills  where  I  may  never  climb. 
Therefore  my  reason  yields  her  hand  to  Faith, 
And  follows  meekly  where  the  angel  leads. 
I  see  the  rich  man  have  his  portion  here, 
And  Lazarus,  in  glorified  repose, 
Sleep  like  a  jewel  on  the  breast  of  Faith 
In  Heaven's  broad  light.  I  see  that  whom  God  loves 
He  chastens  sorely,  but  I  ask  not  why. 
I  only  know  that  God  is  just  and  good  : 


Songs  in  EDarkness.  39 

All  else  is  mystery.     Why  evil  lives 

Within  His  universe  I  may  not  know. 

I  know  it  lives,  and  taints  the  vital  air  ; 

And  that  in  ways  inscrutable  to  me — 

Yet  compromising  not  his  soundless  love 

And  boundless  power — it  lives  against  His  will." 

J.  G.  Holland,  in  "Bitter-Sweet." 


THE  clouds  may  rest  on  the  present, 
And  sorrow  on  days  that  are  gone, 
But  no  night  is  so  utterly  cheerless 

That  we  may  not  look  for  the  dawn  ; 
And  there  is  no  human  being 

With  so  wholly  dark  a  lot, 
But  the  heart  by  turning  the  picture 
May  find  a  sunny  spot. 

Phcebe  Cary. 


THE  stars  are  in  the  sky  all  day  :  ?      / 

But  when  the  sun  has  gone  away 
And  hovering  shadows  cool  the  west 
And  call  the  sleepy  birds  to  rest, 
And  heaven  grows  softly  dim  and  dun, 
Into  its  darkness  one  by  one 
Steal  forth  those  starry  shapes  all  fair — 
We  say  steal  forth,  but  they  were  there  ! 


4©  Songs  in  EDarkness. 

There  all  day  long,  unseen,  unguessed, 
Climbing  the  sky  from  east  to  west. 
The  angels  saw  them  where  they  hid, 
And  so,  perhaps,  the  eagles  did, 
For  they  can  face  the  sharp  sun-ray, 
Nor  wink,  nor  need  to  look  away; 
But  we,  blind  mortals,  gazed  from  far, 
And  did  not  see  a  single  star. 
I  wonder  if  the  world  is  full 
Of  other  secrets  beautiful. 
As  little  guessed,  as  hard  to  see, 
As  this  sweet  starry  mystery  ! 
Do  angels  veil  themselves  in  space, 
And  make  the  sun  their  hiding  place  ? 
Do  heavenly  wings  flash  as  spirits  go 
On  heavenly  errands  to  and  fro — 
While  we,  down-looking,  never  guess 
How  near  our  lives  they  crowd  and  press  ? 
If  so,  at  life's  set  we  may  see 
Into  the  dusk  steal  noiselessly, 
Sweet  faces  that  we  used  to  know, 
Dear  eyes  like  stars  that  softly  glow, 
Dear  hands  stretched  out  to  point  the  way, 
And  deem  the  night  more  fair  than  day. 

Susan  Coolidge. 


II. 


SONGS  IN  HEAVINESS. 


"Down,  thou  climbing  sorrow  !  thy  element  is  below  !* 


"  Then  come  the  gloomy  hours,  when  the  fire  will 
neither  burn  on  our  hearths  nor  in  our  hearts,  and  all 
without  and  within  is  dismal,  cold  and  dark." 


11  Who  ne'er  his  bread  in  sorrow  ate, 

Who  ne'er  the  mournful  midnight  hours 
Weeping  upon  his  bed  hath  sate, 

He  knows  ye  not,  ye  Heavenly  Powers  ! n 

"  Grief  within  our  hearts  grows  strong 
With  passionate  meaning,  till  thou  come 
And  turn  it  to  a  song." 


SONGS  IN  HEAVINESS. 

1  Strike  !    Thou  the  anthem,  we,  Thy  keys  ! " 


I  THINK  we  are  too  ready  with  complaint 
In  this  fair  world  of  God's.     Had  we  no  hope 

Indeed,  beyond  the  zenith  and  the  slope 
Of  yon  gray  blank  sky,  we  might  grow  faint 
To  muse  upon  Eternity's  constraint 

Round  our  aspirant  souls.     But  since  the  scope 

Must  widen  early,  is  it  well  to  droop 
For  a  few  days  consumed  in  loss  and  taint  ? 
O  pusillanimous  heart,  be  comforted, 

And,  like  a  cheerful  traveler,  take  the  road 
Singing,  beside  the  hedge.     What  if  the  bread 

Be  bitter  in  thine  inn,  and  thou  unshod 
To  meet  the  flints  ?     At  least  it  may  be  said, 
"  Because  the  way  is  short,  I  thank  thee,  God  !  " 

E.  B.  Browning. 


44  Songs  in  tyzavinzBS. 

WHEN  the  song's  gone  out  of  your  life, 
That  you  thought  would  last  to  the  end- 
That  first  sweet  song  of  the  heart, 

That  no  after  days  can  lend — 
The  song  of  the  birds  to  the  trees, 

The  song  of  the  wind  to  the  flowers, 
The  song  that  the  heart  sings  to  itself 
When  it  wakes  in  life's  morning  hours — 


You  can  start  no  other  song  ; 

Not  even  a  tremulous  note 
Will  falter  forth  on  the  empty  air  ; 

It  dies  in  your  aching  throat. 
It  is  all  in  vain  that  you  try, 

For  the  spirit  of  song  has  fled — 
The  nightingale  sings  no  more  to  the  rose 

When  the  beautiful  flower  is  dead. 


So  let  silence  softly  fall 

On  the  bruised  heart's  quivering  strings, 
Perhaps  from  the  loss  of  all 

You  may  learn  the  song  that  the  seraph  sings, 
A  grand  and  glorious  psalm 

That  will  tremble  and  rise  and  thrill, 
And  fill  your  breast  with  its  grateful  rest, 

And  its  lonely  yearnings  still. 


Songs  in  ^eairiness.  45 

NOT  so  hopeless,  drooping  spirit, 
Yon  clouds  at  length  will  rise  ; 
And  beyond  them  in  the  distance 
Spreads  a  realm  of  sunny  skies. 
God's  promise  standeth  fast, 
And  the  glory  breaks  at  last ; 
Peace  is  rising  out  of  strife, 
Death  is  dying  into  life. 
Up  springs  the  eternal  sun, 
Heaven  and  earth  will  soon  be  one. 

HORATIL'S   BONAR. 


IS  thy  cruise  of  comfort  failing  ? 
Rise  and  share  it  with  another, 
And  through  all  the  years  of  famine 

It  shall  serve  thee  and  thy  brother  : 
Love  divine  will  fill  thy  storehouse, 

Or  thy  handful  still  renew  ; 

Scanty  fare  for  one  will  often 

Make  a  royal  feast  for  two. 


Mrs.  Charles. 


I  REMEMBER  best 

The  good  time  when  we  were  unhappy  ;  then 
When  we  were  full  of  sorrows  and  unrest, 
Without  a  friend  among  the  sons  of  men, 


46  Songs  in  ^eatuness. 

We  found  "  the  Comforter,"  we  found  "  the  Light," 
We  found  "  the  Strength  "  beyond  our  doubts  and 
fears  ; 
We  met  with  angels  both  by  day  and  night, 

And  touched  "  the  Hand  "   that  wiped  away  our 
tears. 

Amelia  E.  Barr. 


OUR  course  is  onward,  onward,  into  light : 
What  though  the  darkness  gathereth  amain  ? 
Yet  to  return  or  tarry  both  are  vain. 
How  tarry,  when  around  us  is  thick  night  ? 
Whither  return  ?     What  flower  yet  ever  might, 
In  days  of  gloom  and  cold  and  stormy  rain, 
Inclose  itself  in  its  green  bud  again — 
Hiding  from  wrath  of  tempest  out  of  sight  ? 
Courage  !  we  travel  through  a  darksome  cave, 
But  still,  as  nearer  to  the  light  we  draw, 

Fresh  gales  will  reach  us  from  the  upper  air 
And  wholesome  dews  of  heaven  our  foreheads  lave  ; 
The  darkness  lighten  more,  till,  full  of  awe, 
We  stand  in  open  sunshine — unaware. 

Trench. 


THERE  is  always  sunrise  somewhere 
Though  the  night  be  'round  thee  drawn, 
Somewhere  still  the  east  is  brightening 
With  the  rosy  flush  of  dawn. 


Songs  in  fjcamncs*.  47 

What  though  near  the  bat  is  flitting 

And  the  raven  croaks  his  lay, 
Somewhere  still  the  sun-bird's  greeting 

Hails  the  rising  of  the  day  ! 

Let  us  lay  to  heart  the  comfort 

In  this  sweet  reflection  found, 
That  however  dense  our  darkness 

Somewhere  still  the  world  around 
Dews  are  glistening,  flowers  uplifting, 

Wild  birds  warbling,  as  reborn, 
Lakes  and  streams  and  woods  and  mountains 

Melting  in  the  kiss  of  morn  ! 

Ne'er  was  night,  however  dismal, 

But  withdrawn  its  wings  of  gloom, 
Ne'er  was  sorrow,  but  a  day-star 

Hinted  of  the  morrow's  bloom  ! 
Ne'er  was  woe,  but  in  its  bosom 

Was  the  seed  of  hope  impearled  ; 
There  is  still  a  sunrise  somewhere, 

Speeding,  speeding  round  the  world  ! 


THESE  saddened  years  !     These  saddened  years  ! 
Pain,  parting,  sin — so  much  for  tears  ; 
So  many  failings  that  I  mourn, 
So  many  loved  ones  from  me  torn, 


48  Songs  in  tytamntsQ. 

The  griefs  of  others  on  me  pressed  ; 
Yet  Lord,  since  thou  hast  thought  it  best, 
I  thank  thee  for  these  saddened  years. 


These  toilsome  years  !     These  toilsome  years  ! 

Whose  work  like  sunlight  disappears 

Awhile  !     The  toil  of  heart  and  mind 

To  help  the  weak,  to  lead  the  blind, 

To  guide  the  strong  with  zealous  care  ; — 

Yes,  Lord,  in  many  an  earnest  prayer 

I  thank  thee  for  these  toilsome  years. 

Rev.  W.  R.  Cochrane. 


O  WEARY  hearts  that  languish 
With  heavy  grief  oppressed, 
Say  to  your  dreary  anguish 

There's  One  who  knoweth  best. 


Our  short,  scant  lines,  ne'er  measure 

His  purpose  reaching  far, 
Look  upward  through  the  azure, 

Where  shines  the  polar  star  ! 

Adelaide  George  Bennett. 


Songs   in  ^eadness.  49 

.    .    .    .    On  every  morrow  are  we  wreathing 
A  flowery  band  to  bind  us  to  the  earth, 
Spite  of  despondence,  of  the  inhuman  dearth 
Of  nobler  natures,  of  the  gloomy  days, 
Of  all  the  unhealthy  and  darkened  ways 
Made  for  our  searching  ;  yes,  in  spite  of  all, 
Some  shape  of  beauty  moves  away  the  pall 
From  our  dark  spirits. 

Keats. 


GOD  lifts  the  soul  or  casts  it  down, 
And  schools  it  in  His  own  wise  way, 
And  fits  it  to  receive  a  crown, 
In  some  great  Coronation  Day. 

Hope  cries,  "  Rejoice  !  thou  shalt  be  blest !  " 
Faith  cries,  "  Whate'er  befalls  is  best ;  " 
Come  I  drink  the  sweet  or  bitter  cup, 
And  suffer  on  and  struggle  up. 

Abraham  Perry  Miller. 


W 


E,  ignorant  of  ourselves, 
Beg   often   our   own   harm,  which   the   Wise 
Powers 
Deny  us  for  our  good  :  so  find  we  profit 
By  losing  of  our  prayers. 

Shaeespeark. 
4 


So  Songs  in  Weariness. 


N/        T  N  the  dusk  of  our  sorrowful  hours, 
1     The  time  of  our  trouble  and  tears, 
With  frost  at  the  heart  of  the  flowers, 

And  blight  on  the  bloom  of  the  years, 
Like  the  mother-voice  tenderly  hushing 

The  sound  of  the  sob  and  the  moan, 
We  hear  when  the  anguish  is  crushing, 

"  He  trod  in  the  wine-press  alone." 

How  sudden  soe'er  the  disaster, 

Or  heavy  the  hand  that  may  smite, 
We  are  yet  in  the  grace  of  the  Master, 

We  never  are  out  of  his  sight  ; 
Though  the  winnowing  winds  of  temptation 

May  forth  from  all  quarters  be  blown, 
We  are  sure  of  the  coming  salvation, — 

The  Lord  will  remember  his  own. 

From  him,  in  the  night  of  his  trial, 

Both  heaven  and  earth  fled  away  ; 
His  boldest  had  only  denial, 

His  dearest  had  only  dismay. 
With  a  cloud  o'er  the  face  of  the  Father, 

He  entered  the  anguish  unknown  ; 
But  we,  though  our  sorrows  may  gather, 

Shall  never  endure  them  alone. 

We  bend  in  the  human  frail  fashion, 
And  sway  'neath  the  weight  of  the  rod, 

But  swift  in  its  blessed  compassion 
Still  hastens  the  help  of  our  God. 


Songs  in  ^eatriness.  51 

And  the  sigh  of  the  spirit  faint-hearted 

Goes  up  in  a  song  to  the  throne, 
Such  strength  in  its  need  is  imparted  : — 

"  He  trod  in  the  wine-press  alone." 

And  therefore  he  knows  to  the  utmost, 

The  pangs  that  the  mortal  can  bear  ; 
No  mortal  hath  pain  that  the  Master 

Refuses  to  heal  or  to  share. 
And  the  cries  that  ascend  to  the  Loving 

Who  bowed  Him  for  us  to  atone, 
Are  hushed  at  the  gentle  reproving, 

"He  trod  in  the  wine-press  alone." 

Margaret  E.  Sangster. 


CRUSH  the  dead  leaves  under  thy  feet, 
Gaze  not  on  them  with  mournful  sigh  ; 
Think  not  earth  has  no  glory  left, 

Because  a  few  of  its  frail  things  die  ; 
Springtime  will  bring  fresh  verdure  as  sweet- 
Crush  the  dead  leaves  under  thy  feet. 

Look  not  back  with  despairing  heart, 

Think  not  life's  morning  has  been  in  vain, 

Rich,  broad  fields  lie  before  thee  yet, 
Ready  to  yield  their  golden  grain  ; 


52  Songs  in  ^airiness. 

Autumn  may  bring  thee  a  fruitage  sweet- 
Crush  the  dead  leaves  under  thy  feet. 


Murmur  not,  if  shadows  fall 

Thick  and  dark  on  thy  earthly  way  ; 

Hearts  there  are  which  must  walk  in  shade, 
Till  they  reach  the  light  of  eternal  day; 

Life  is  not  long,  and  the  years  are  fleet, 

Crush  the  dead  leaves  under  thy  feet. 


AS  torrents  in  summer, 
Half  dried  in  their  channels 
Suddenly  rise,  though  the 
Sky  is  still  cloudless, 
For  rain  has  been  falling 
Far  off  at  their  fountains  : 


So  hearts  that  are  fainting 
Grow  full  to  o'erflowing, 
And  they  that  behold  it 
Marvel,  and  know  not 
That  God  at  their  fountains 
Far  off  has  been  raining. 

From  m  The  Nun  of  Nidaros." 


gongs  in  fjeairiness.  53 

EVERY  day  is  a  fresh  beginning, 
Every  morn  is  the  world  made  new, 
You  who  are  weary  of  sorrow  and  sinning, 
Here  is  a  beautiful  hope  for  you  ; 
A  hope  for  me  and  a  hope  for  you. 

All  the  past  things  are  past  and  over, 

The  tasks  are  done  and  the  tears  are  shed, 

Yesterday's  errors  let  yesterday  cover  ; 

Yesterday's  wounds  which  smarted  and  bled, 
Are  healed  with  the  healing  which  night  has  shed. 

Yesterday  now  is  a  part  of  forever  ; 

Bound  up  in  a  sheaf  which  God  holds  tight, 

With  glad  days  and  sad  days  and  bad  days  which 
never 
Shall  visit  us  more  with  their  bloom  and  their  blight, 
Their  fullness  of  sunshine  or  sorrowful  night. 

Let  them  go,  since  we  cannot  re-live  them, 

Cannot  undo  and  cannot  atone  ; 
God  in  His  mercy  receive,  forgive  them  ; 

Only  the  new  days  are  our  own. 

To-day  is  ours  and  to-day  alone. 

Every  day  is  a  fresh  beginning  ; 

Listen,  my  soul,  to  the  glad  refrain, 
And  spite  of  old  sorrow  and  older  sinning, 
And  puzzles  forecasted  and  possible  pain, 

Take  heart  with  the  day,  and  begin  again. 

Susan  Coolidgb. 


54  Songs  in  ^emriness. 

TAKE  unto  Thyself,  O  Father, 
This  folded  day  of  thine, 
This  weary  day  of  mine. 
Its  ragged  corners  cut  me  yet, — 
Oh  still  the  jar  and  fret ! 
Father  do  not  forget 
That  I  am  tired 
With  this  marred  day  of  thine, 
This  erring  day  of  mine  ! 
Forget  not  but  forgive. 


AS  on  wrecked  battle  grounds, 
Some  black-robed  piteous  nun 
Binds  up  the  bleeding  wounds 

When  the  day's  fight  is  done, 
So,  stealing  o'er  the  way 

Where  garishly  has  passed 
The  heated,  burdened  day 

To  wither,  bruise  and  blast, 
Night  comes  in  sable  dress, 
WTith  soothing,  soft  caress 
To  heal  and  sweetly  bless. 

Sad  eyes,  which  long  do  weep, 
Hearts  heavy,  sick  and  worn, 

Praying  for  peaceful  sleep, 
Hands  weary,  brier-torn, 


Songs  in  fjeatriness.  55 

Feet  that  for  courted  rest 

Halt  by  the  sunset  gate, 
Welcome  this  dark-robed  guest 

And  for  her  coming  wait. 
Bird  of  the  broken  wing 
Cease  now  thy  sorrowing, 
Night-time  doth  healing  bring. 

Adelaide  George  Bennett. 


RAISE  it  to  heaven  when  thine  eye  fills  with  tears, 
For  only  in  a  watery  sky  appears 
The  bow  of  light  ;  and  from  the  invisible  skies 
Hope's  glory  shines  not,  save  through  weeping  eyes. 

Frances  Kemble  Butler. 


IX  my  right  hand  I  clasp  to-morrow's  grief, 
And  in  my  left  hand  is  held  the  present  woe  ; 
No  other  hand  have  I  wherewith  to  grasp 

The  needed  strength  and  wearily  I  go 
Weighed  down  by  these  two  loads,  and  aching  sore; 

And  sore  dismayed,  because  no  help  I  see  ; 
And  sore  perplexed,  because  my  greater  load 
Doth  make  me  lean  and  walk  unevenly. 


56  Songs  in  ijjeamntss. 

I  lean  towards  my  right, — to-morrow's  load 

Is  so  much  greater  than  the  present  grief; 
But  lo  !    at  last,  for  my  right  hand  I  find 

A  wondrous  strength,  a  marvelous  relief. 
God  takes  this  right-hand  load  ;  I  need  not  hold 

To-morrow's  woe  ;  and  now  my  hand  is  free 
To  grasp  the  strength  I  so  much  need  to-day. 

I  grasp  it,  Christ,  whene'er  I  cling  to  thee. 

Anna  Temple. 


BLESSED  are  they   who   are  homesick,  for  they 
shall  come  again  to  their  Father's  house. 

Heinrich  Stilling. 


LIKE  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  like  a  fly  in  the  mesh, 
Like  a  boat  that  is  chained  to  shore, 
The  wild  unrest  of  the  heart  in  my  breast 

Tortures  me  more  and  more. 
I  know  not  why  it  should  wail  and  cry, 

Like  a  child  that  is  lost  at  night  ; 
For  it  knows  no  grief  but  has  found  relief, 
And  it  is  not  touched  with  blight. 


Bongs  in  ^ecuriness.  57 

It  has  had  of  pleasure  full  many  a  measure, 

It  has  thrilled  with  love's  red  wine  ; 
It  has  hope  and  health,  and  youth's  rare  wealth — 

O  rich  is  this  heart  of  mine  ! 
Yet  it  is  not  glad — it  is  wild  and  mad, 

Like  a  billow  before  it  breaks  ; 
And  its  ceaseless  pain  is  worse  than  vain, 

Since  it  knows  not,  only  it  aches. 


If  longs  to  be  like  the  waves  of  the  sea, 

That  break  from  control,  and  beat, 
And  dash,  and  lunge,  and  hurry  and  plunge, 

And  die  at  the  gray  rock's  feet. 
It  wearies  of  life,  and  it  sickens  of  strife  ; 

And  yet  it  tires  of  rest. 
Oh,  I  know  not  why  it  should  ache  and  cry — 

Tis  a  troublesome  heart  at  best. 


Though  not  understood,  I  think  'tis  a  good 

And  god-like  discontent. 
It  springs  from  the  soul  that  longs  for  its  goal, 

The  source  from  which  it  was  sent. 
Then  surge,  O  breast  !  with  thy  wild  unrest — 

Cry,  heart  !    like  a  child  at  night — 
Till  the  mystic  shore  of  the  evermore 

Shall  dawn  on  the  soul's  glad  sight. 

Ella  Wheeler. 


58  Songs  in  Weariness. 

Tired  !   well,  what  of  that  ? 
Didst  fancy  life  was  spent  on  beds  of  ease  ? 
Fluttering  the  rose  leaves  scattered  by  the  breeze  ? 
Come,  rouse  thee,  while  it  is  called  to-day  ! 
Coward,  arise  !  go  forth  upon  thy  way. 

Lonely  !  and  what  of  that  ? 
Some  must  be  lonely  !    'tis  not  given  to  all 
To  feel  a  heart  responsive  rise  and  fall ; 
To  blend  another  life  into  its  own. 
Work  may  be  done  in  loneliness.     Work  on. 

Dark  !  well,  what  of  that  ? 
Didst  fondly  dream  the  sun  would  never  set  ? 
Dost  fear  to  lose  thy  way  ?     Take  courage  yet ! 
Learn  thou  to  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight. 

Hard  !  well,  what  of  that  ? 
Didst  fancy  life  one  summer  holiday  ? 
With  lessons  none  to  learn,  and  naught  to  pay  ? 
Go,  get  thee  to  thy  task.      Conquer  or  die  ! 
It  must  be  learned.     Learn  it  then,  patiently. 

No  help  !   Nay,  'tis  not  so  ! 
Though  human  help  be  far,  thy  God  is  nigh, 
Who  feeds  the  ravens,  hears  His  children's  cry. 
He's  near  thee,  whereso'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 
And  he  will  guide  thee,  light  thee,  help  thee  home. 


Songs  in  fjecumxess.  59 


OSOUL  of  mine,  when  tasks  are  hard  and  long, 
And  life  so  crowds  thee  with  its  stress  and  strain 
That  thou,  half  fainting,  art  too  tired  to  pray, 
Drink  thou  this  wine  of  blessing  and  be  strong  ! 
God  knows  !    what  though  the  lips  be  dumb  with 
pain, 
Or  the  pen  drops  ?  He  knows  what  thou  would'st 
say  I 


TEARS  are  not  always  fruitful  ;  their  hot  drops 
Sumetimes  but  scorch  the  cheek  and  dim    the 
eyes  ; 
Despairing  murmurs  over  blackened  hopes, 
Not  the  meek  spirit's  calm  and  chastened  cry. 

Oh,  better  not  to  weep,  than  weep  amiss  ; 

Full  hard  it  is  to  learn  to  weep  aright  ; — 
To  weep  wise  tears,  the  tears  that  heal  and  bless, 

The  tears  which  their  own  bitterness  requite. 

Oh,  better  not  to  grieve  than  waste  our  woe, 

To  fling  away  the  spirit's  finest  gold, 
To  lose,  not  gain,  by  sorrow,  to  overflow 

The  sacred  channels  which  true  sadness  holds. 


60  Songs  in  ^eamness. 

To  shed  our  tears  as  trees  their  blossoms  shed, 
Not  all  at  random,  but  to  make  sure  way 

For  fruit  in  season,  when  the  bloom  lies  dead, 
On  the  chill  earth,  the  victim  of  decay  : — 

This  is  to  use  the  grief  that  God  has  sent, 
To  read  the  lesson,  and  to  learn  the  love, 

To  sound  the  depths  of  saddest  chastisement, 
To  pluck  on  earth,  the  fruit  of  realms  above. 

Weep  not  too  fondly,  lest  the  cherished  grief 
Should  into  vain,  self-pitying  weakness  turn  ; 

Weep  not  too  long,  but  seek  divine  relief, 

Weep  not  too  fiercely,  lest  the  fierceness  burn. 


Husband  your  tears  ;  if  lavished,  they  become 
Like  waters  that  inundate  and  destroy, 

For  active,  self-denying  days  leave  room, 
So  shall  you  sow  in  tears  and  reap  in  joy. 

HORATIUS   BONAR. 


LATE  on  me  weeping,  did  this  whisper  fall : 
"  Dear  child,  there  is  no  need  to  weep  at  all  ! 
Why  go  about  to  grieve  and  to  despair  ? 
Why  weep  now  through  thy  Future's  eyes,  and  bear 
In  vain  to-day  to-morrow's  load  of  care  ? 


Songs  in  ijciunncss.  61 

"  Mine  is  thy  welfare.     Yea,  the  storms  fulfill 
On  those  who  love  me,  none  but  my  decrees. 
Lightning  shall  not  strike  thee  against  my  will  ; 
And  I,  thy  God,  can  save  thee,  when  I  please, 
From  quaking  earth,  and  the  devouring  seas. 

"  Why  be  so  dull,  so  slow  to  understand  ? 
The  more  thou  trustest  me,  the  more  will  grow 
My  love  ;  and  thou,  a  jewel  in  my  hand, 
Shalt  richer  be  ;  whence  thou  canst  never  go 
So  softly  slipping  but  that  I  shall  know. 

11  If  thou  dost  seem  to  fall  ;  if  griefs  and  pains 
And  death  prevail  ;  for  thee  there  yet  remains 
My  love  which  sent  them,  and  which  surely  will 
Thee  reinstate,  where  thou  shalt  thenceforth  fill 
A  place  still  warmer,  and  more  steadfast  still." 

Father  !  (I  said)  I  do  accept  Thy  word, 
To  perfect  trust  in  Thee  now  am  I  stirred, 
By  the  dear,  gracious  saying  I  have  heard. — 
And  having  said  thus,  fell  a  peace  so  deep, 
What  could  I  do,  dear  friends  ?  what  do,  but  weep? 

Septimus  Sutton,  1800. 


R 


OLL  on,  O  earth  !  roll  on,  and  swing 
Past  midnight,  and  the  morning  bring. 


62  Songs  in  Weariness. 

Roll  on,  sad  earth  !  too  prone  we  are 
To  dwell  among  the  tombs,  and  swear 
A  dumb  allegiance  to  despair  : 
For  all  the  prophets  of  the  sky, 
Foretell,  when  scarlet  sunsets  die 
A  golden  sunrise  by  and  by. 

Edwin  S.  Hopkins. 


, 


III. 


SONGS  IN  TEMPTATION. 


66  Songs  in  temptation. 

GIVE  strength  when'er  our  strength  must  fail ; 
Give  strength  the  flesh  to  curb; 
Give  strength  when  craft  and  sin  prevail, 
To  weaken  and  disturb. 
The  world  doth  lay  her  snares 
To  catch  us  unawares  : 
Give  strength  to  sweep  them  all  away  ; 
So  in  our  utmost  need, 
And  when  death  comes  indeed, 
Thy  strength  shall  be  our  perfect  stay. 

Marperger. 


WHAT  though  we  grope  and  stumble  in  the  way, 
The  thorny  way  by  which  our  feet  are  led  ? 
Still  strive  to  walk  uprightly,  and  to  lay 
Foundation  firm  for  other  feet  to  tread. 

Laura  B.  Boyce. 


1DO  not  know  the  deadly  depths  within, 
Where  lurk  my  heart's  capacities  of  wrong, 
I  cannot  fathom  what  I  might  have  been, 

Abandoned  to  myself  to  drift  along 
The  seething  floods,  whose  cruel  undertow 
Clutches  unwary  souls,  had  not  the  hand 
Of  the  strong  Swimmer,  buffeting  the  flow 
Of  death,  upheld  my  life  and  drawn  to  land. 


Bongs  in  QLcmptation.  67 


I  only  know  that  from  my  fatal  self 

One  who  is  strong  preserved  me  !  and  I  owe 
My  rescuing  to  Him,  who  treads  the  shelf 
Where   sea   meets   shore   along   this   treacherous 
coast, 
To  watch  the  overbold,  who  dare  the  woe 

Of  waters,  lest  their  powers  give  up  the  ghost. 

M.  Woolsey  Stryker. 


THIS  shall  please  Thee,  if  devoutly  trying 
To   keep  Thy  laws,    mine    own   wrong   will 
denying, 
I  watch  mine  heart,  lest  sin  again  enchain  it, 
And  from  Thee  tear  it. 

But  since  I  have  not  strength  to  flee  temptation, 
To  crucify  each  sinful  inclination, 
O  !  let  Thy  grace  and  strength  provide  me, 
And  gently  guide  me. 

JOHANN   HeERMAN,   1630. 


M 


Y  heart  grows  strong, 
Whene'er  I  feel  Thy  love,  Most  High, 
Doth  compass  me  around  ; 


6S  Songs  in  ftentptation. 

But  would  I  have  Thee  for  my  shield, 
No  more  to  sin  my  soul  must  yield, 

But  in  Thy  ways  be  found  ; 
Thou  God  wilt  ever  walk  with  me, 
If  I  turn  not  aside  from  Thee. 

Duke  of  Brunswick,  1667. 


'IV  TEATH  some  shadow  oft  I  wait, 
1  N     Like  blind  Bartimeus  at  the  gate  ; 
Assured  that  when  my  Lord  draws  nigh, 
Sin,  doubt  and  darkness  all  shall  fly  : 
Hence  to  His  cross  I  cling  the  more, 
Whene'er  these  shadows  touch  my  door. 

John  ORDRONAUX,/r<?wz  "  Shadows  of  the  Tempted?1 


GREAT   truths   are  greatly  won;  not   found  by 
chance, 
Nor  wafted  on  the  breath  of  summer  dreams  ; 
But  grasped  in  the  great  struggle  of  the  soul, 
Hard  buffeted  with  adverse  wind  and  stream. 

In  the  dark  day  of  conflict,  fear  and  grief, 

When  the  strong  hand  of  God,  put  forth  in  might, 

Plows  up  the  subsoil  of  the  stagnant  heart 

And  brings  the  imprisoned  truth-seed  to  the  light. 

HORATIUS  BONAR. 


Gongs  in   temptation.  69 


On  finding  a  Lily  growing  in  the  dry  bed  of  a  Pond. 

NEVER  on  the  clear  bright  billow, 
Lifted  from  her  lowly  bed, 
Never  on   a  wavelet  pillow 

Rested  she  her  gentle  head, 
Still  the  torturing,  upward  yearning 

Instincts  of  her  dainty  race, 
Bade  her  from  the  dull  earth  turning, 

Rise  in  purity  and  grace. 
11  Mocking  every  aspiration 

Prone  and  helpless  here  I  lie," 
This  in  hours  of  dark  temptation, 

Was  her  spirit's  anguished  cry. 
11  Vain  the  hopes,  the  longings  endless, 

For  a  freer,  brighter  life, 
Making  me  more  lone  and  friendless, 

Wearying  me  with  useless  strife. 
Let  my  better  nature  perish  ; 

Nevermore  will  I  aspire, 
Nevermore  will  seek  to  cherish 

Higher  instinct,  pure  desire  ; 
On  these  weeds  will  gaze  admiring 

Nodding  in  this  earth-born  breeze, 
Coarse,  contented,  unaspiring, 

Would  I  were  like  one  of  these." 

But  the  sunbeams  on  her  falling, 
Roused  from  that  despairing  chill, 

And  the  voice  within  her  calling, 
Bade  her  be  a  lily  still  ! 


70  Songs  in  temptation. 


Wind-borne  from  some  purer  region, 

Came  this  testimony  free  ; 
u  Fear  not,  for  their  name  is  Legion 

Who  have  hoped  and  toiled  like  thee  ; 
Slowly,  painfully,  thou  learnest 

What  thy  destiny  must  be  ; 
All  thine  inner  promptings  earnest 

Are  but  glorious  prophecy. 
Faithful  to  the  highest  duty, 

Hope,  yet  work  with  heart  and  will ; 
Thou  shalt  yet  arise  in  beauty, 

Thou  shalt  be  a  lily  still" 


Then  as  to  some  touch  mysterious, 

Every  inmost  heartstring  thrilled, 
While  her  spirit,  thoughtful,  serious, 

With  a  wondrous  joy  was  filled. 
Blessed  hours  of  exaltation  ! 

Memories  of  such  rapture  rare, 
Saved  her  from  her  dark  temptation, 

Strengthened  her  against  despair  : 
Though  no  partial  friends  beholding 

Cheered  her  with  delicious  praise, 
All  unmarked  her  slow  unfolding 

Through  the  long,  long  summer  days  ; 
Though  half  doubtful  of  her  mission, 

Dreading  lest  her  power  might  fail, 
Musing  on  that  dream  elysian, 

Hopeful  grew  the  lily  pale. 


Songs  in   temptation.  71 

All  its  meaning-  scarce  divining 

Still  new  efforts  she  put  forth  ; 
For  the  vital  moistures  pining-, 

Deeper  struck  her  roots  in  earth, 
Gratefully  her  thirst  allaying 

Every  dewdrop  gathered  up, 
Choice  perfumes  from  zephyrs  straying 

Hoarded  in  her  pearly  cup. 
Once,  to  let  the  sunbeams  enter, 

Dared  to  ope  that  chalice  white  ; 
When  instantly  her  heart's  deep  center 

Caught  that  golden  radiance  bright. 
So  she  kept  her  pure  corolla 

Free  from  earthly  soil  or  stain, 
Till  the  autumn  winds  blew  hollow- 
Till  the  welcome  autumn  rain. 
Then  a  little  pool  collected 

Raised  her  on  her  slender  stem, 
And  the  lily  was  perfected 

Fairer  than  the  fairest  gem. 

Augusta  Harvey  Worthen. 


They  only  the  victory  win 
Who  have  fought  the  good  fight  and  have  vanquished 

the  demon  that  tempts  us  within  ; 
Who  have  held  to  their  faith,  unseduced  by  the  prize 

that  the  world  holds  on  high  ; 
Who  have  dared  for  a  high  cause  to  suffer,  resist, 

fight — if  need  be,  to  die. 


72  Songs  in   STemptation. 

LORD,  be  mine  this  prize  to  win  ; — 
Guide  me  through  a  world  of  sin  ; 
Keep  me  by  Thy  saving  grace  ; 
Give  me  at  Thy  side  a  place  ; 
Sun  and  Shield  alike  Thou  art, 
Guide  and  guard  my  erring  heart ; 
Grace  and  glory  flow  from  Thee, 
Shower,  O  shower  them,  Lord,  on  me. 


Kappy  souls,  whose  praises  flow, 
Ever  in  this  vale  of  woe  ; 
Waters  in  the  desert  rise, 
Manna  feeds  them  from  the  skies ; 
On  they  go  from  strength  to  strength, 
Till  they  see  Thy  face  at  length, 
At  Thy  feet  adoring  fall 
Who  hast  led  them  safe  through  all. 

H.  F.  Lyte,  1834. 


God  liveth  ever  ! 
Wherefore,  Soul,  despair  thou  never  ! 
Our  God  is  good,  in  every  place 

His  love  is  known,  his  help  is  found  ; 
His  mighty  arm,  and  tender  grace 

Bring  good  from  ills  that  hem  us  round. 


Songs  in   (temptation.  73 

Easier  than  we  think  can  he 
Turn  to  joy  our  agony. 
Soul,  remember  'mid  thy  pains 
God  o'er  all  forever  reigns. 

God  liveth  ever  ! 
Wherefore,  Soul,  despair  thou  never  ! 
He  who  can  earth  and  heaven  control, 

Who  spreads  the  clouds  on  sea  and  land, 
Whose  presence  fills  the  mighty  Whole, 
In  each  true  heart  is  close  at  hand. 
Love  him,  he  will  surely  send 
Help  and  joy  that  never  end. 
Soul,  remember  in  thy  pains 
God  o'er  all  forever  reigns. 

God  liveth  ever  ! 
Wherefore,  Soul,  despair  thou  never  ! 
Those  whom  the  thoughtless  world  forsakes 

Who  stand  bewildered  with  their  woe, 
God  gently  to  his  bosom  takes 

And  bids  them  all  his  fullness  know. 
In  thy  sorrow's  swelling  flood 
Own  his  hand  who  seeks  thy  good. 
Soul  forget  not  in  thy  pains 
God  o'er  all  forever  reigns. 

God  liveth  ever  ! 
Wherefore,  Soul,  despair  thou  never ! 


74  Songs  in  ®em:ptaticm. 

What  though  thou  tread  with  bleeding  feet 

A  thorny  path  of  shame  and  gloom, 
Thy  God  will  choose  the  way  most  meet, 
To  lead  thee  heavenwards,  lead  thee  home. 
For  this  life's  long  night  of  sadness 
He  will  give  thee  peace  and  gladness, 
Soul,  forget  not  in  thy  pains 
God  o'er  all  forever  reigns. 

ZlHN,  1500. 


OGOD,  O  Kinsman  loved,  but  not  enough  ! 
O  man,  with  eyes  majestic  after  death, 
Whose  feet  have  toiled  along  our  pathways  rough, 

Whose  lips  drawn  human  breath  ! 
By  that  one  likeness  which  is  ours  and  thine, — 

By  that  one  nature  which  doth  make  us  kin, — 
By  that  high  heaven,  where  sinless  thou  dost  shine 

To  draw  us  sinners  in, — 
Come  !  lest  this  heart  should,  cold  and  castaway, 

Die,  ere  the  Guest  adored  it  entertain, — 
Lest  feet  which  slip  upon  the  way 

Should  miss  thine  heavenly  reign. 

Jean  Ingelow. 


SORELY  tried  and  sorely  tempted 
From  no  agonies  exempted, 


Songs  in   (temptation,  75 

In  the  penance  of  his  trial, 
And  the  discipline  of  pain  ; 
Often  by  illusions  cheated, 
Often  baffled  and  defeated 
In  the  tasks  to  be  completed, 
He  by  toil  and  self-denial, 
To  the  highest  shall  attain. 

From  Longfellow's  "  Masque  of  Pandora." 


It  is  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  another  thing  to  fall. 

Shakespeare. 


THE  past  is  mine,  and  I  take  it  all, 
Its  weakness — its  folly,  if  you  please  ; 
Nay,  even  my  sins,  if  you  come  to  that, 
May  have  been  helps,  not  hindrances. 


If  I  saved  my  body  from  the  flames 

Because  that  once  I  had  burned  my  hand  ; 

Or  kept  myself  from  a  greater  sin 

By  doing  a  less — you  will  understand — 


76  Songs  in  Stjentptation. 

It  was  better  I  suffered  a  little  pain, 

Better  I  sinned  for  a  little  time, 
If  the  smarting  warned  me  back  from  death, 

And  the  sting  of  sin  withheld  from  crime. 

Who  knows  its  strength  by  trial,  will  know 
What  strength  must  be  set  against  a  sin  ; 

And  how  temptation  is  overcome 

He  has  learned  who  has  felt  its  power  within. 

Phcebe  Cary. 


TOSSED  on  temptation's  sea 
Lord  hear  my  cry  ; 
All  seems  so  dark  around, 

Still  art  Thou  nigh  ? 

High  roll  the  billows, 

Fierce  is  the  fight; 

Lord,  Thou  hast  left  me 

Alone  in  the  night  ! 

"  Hush,  thou  of  little  faith, 

Cry  not  so  wild, 
Know  that  I  slumber  not, 

Thou  art  my  child  : 
And  when  the  trouble  comes, 

Bend  to  my  will ; 
I  bid  the  wildest  storm  : 

Peace,  be  still  !  " 


Songs   in    temptation.  77 

"  T^EMPTED  in  all  points  like  ourselves,  was  He  — 

1     Tempted,  but  sinless."     Oh,  what  majesty 
Of  meaning-  did  those  precious  words  convey  ! 
'Twas  through  temptation,  thought  I,  that  the  Lord — 
The  mediator  between  God  and  men  — 
Reached  down  the  hand  of  sympathetic  love 
To  meet  the  grasp  of  lost  humanity. 
This  man  kneeling  has  the  Lord  in  him. 

Tempted  but  sinless; — one  hand  grasping  mine, 
The  other  Christ's. 

J.  G.  Holland. 


AND  is  there  care  in  Heaven  ?     And  is  there  love 
In  heavenly  spirits  to  these  creatures  base, 
That  may  compassion  of  their  evils  move? 

There  is, — else  much  more  wretched  were  the  case 
Of  men,  than  beasts  : 
How  oft  do  they  their  silver  bowers  leave 

To  come  to  succor  us  that  succor  want  ! 
How  oft  do  they  with  golden  pinions  cleave 

The  flitting  skies,  like  flying  pursuivant, 
Against  foul  fiends,  to  aid  us  militant  ! 

They  for  us  fight,  they  watch  and  duly  ward, 
And  their  bright  squadrons  round  about  us  plant, 

And  all  for  love  and  nothing  for  reward  ; 
O  why  should  heavenly  God  to  men  have  such  regard? 

Edmund  Spenser. 


IV. 


SONGS  IN  HUMILIATION. 


"  So  shalt  thou   come   to  thy  reaping,  so  shalt  thou  say — 

it  is  well — 
With   lips    redeemed  from  the  curse,  and   soul  from  the 

uttermost  hell  !  " 


"  Heaven  to  win  a  soul  must  bring  it  down." 


4<  A  noble  heart  like  the  sun  showeth  its  greatest  coun- 
tenance in  its  lowest  estate." 


"  Hath  any  wronged  thee?     Be  bravely  revenged. 
Slight    it,   and    the  work's    begun.     Forgive   it,  and   'tis 
finished." 


SONGS    IN    HUMILIATION. 


"We  mount  to  heaven  on  the  ruins  of  our  cherished  schemes, 
finding  our  failures  were  successes.' ' 


1WILL  go  forth  'mong  men,  not  mailed  in  scorn, 
But  in  the  armor  of  a  pure  intent ; 
Great  duties  are  before  me,  and  great  songs, 
And  whether  crowned  or  crownless  when  I  fall, 
It  matters  not,  so  as  God's  work  is  done. 

Alexander  Smith. 


,ry\ 


Coldness  and  doubt,  and  palsied  lack  : 
Such  as  I  have,  I  send  Thee,  perfect  Giver, 
Send  Thou  Thy  lightning  back  ! 

Geo.  Macdonald. 


82  Songs  in  ^ntniliation. 

GROPEST  thou  in  failure's  valley 
Sad,  disheartened  and  dismayed  ? 
Lest  as  in  the  past  thy  footsteps 

May  be  yet  again  betrayed, 
Fix  thine  eyes  upon  the  orient, 

Turn  thee  from  the  sorrow's  feast, 
Till  the  never-failing  sunrise 
Glorifies  the  darkened  east  ! 


BUT  all  through  life  I  see  a  cross, 
Where  sons  of  God  yield  up  their  breath  ; 
There  is  no  gain  except  by  loss, 
There  is  no  life  except  by  death. 
There  is  no  vision  but  by  faith, 
No  glory  but  by  bearing  shame, 
Nor  justice  but  by  taking  blame ; 
And  that  Eternal  Passion  saith 
Be  emptied  of  glory  and  right  and  name. 

Olrig  Grange. 


SOFTLY  sing  the  love  of  Jesus  ! 
For  our  hearts  are  full  of  tears, 
And  we  think  how  walking  humbly 
This  low  earth  for  weary  years, 


Songs  in  humiliation.  83 

Without  riches,  without  dwelling, 
Wounded  sore  by  foe  and  friend, 

In  the  garden  and  in  dying, 
Jesus  loved  us  to  the  end. 


WHEN  the  sad  soul  in  weariness 
Bows  low,  and  knows  its  own  distress, 
Nor  finds  through  the  extended  earth 
The  happiness  pursued  since  birth, — 
Borne  down  with  sorrow  and  the  press 
Of  a  keen  sense  of  little  worth, — 
In  these  dear  words  its  woes  may  drown, 
"  Whoso  is  faithful  wears  a  crown." 

There  is  this  thought  for  you  and  you  ; 
God's  providence  is  not  untrue  : 
He  serves  as  well  who  bravely  bears 
As  he  who  with  distinction  shares, — 
There  is  a  work  for  each  to  do : 
The  soul  that  uncomplaining  wears 
The  chains  wherewith  it  is  enchained, 
Is  sweeter  for  ihe  patience  gained. 

To  be  exultant,  good  or  strong, 
When  praised  or  flattered  by  the  throng — 
When  circumstance  and  men  conspire 
To  raise  us  to  a  level  higher, — 


84  Songs   in  humiliation. 

This  were  not  hard  ;  but  if  through  long 
Prosaic  years  we  do  not  tire, 
Can  in  small  things  be  tried  yet  true, 
This  is  to  live  as  heroes  do. 

Joseph  W.  Sutphen. 


A  AT  HAT  else  remains  for  me  ? 
To  build  a  new  life  on  a  ruined  life. 


HOW  shalt  thou  bear  the  cross  that  now 
So  dread  a  weight  appears  ? 
Keep  quietly  to  God,  and  think 
Upon  the  Eternal  Years. 

Bear  gently,  suffer  like  a  child, 

Nor  be  ashamed  of  tears: 
Kiss  the  sweet  cross,  and  in  thy  heart 

Sing  of  the  Eternal  Years. 

And  know'st  thou  not  how  bitterness 

An  ailing  spirit  cheers  ? 
Thy  medicine  is  the  strengthening  thought 

Of  the  Eternal  Years. 

Faber. 


Songs  in  humiliation.  85 

HUMILITY  is  the  base  of  every  virtue, 
God  keeps  all  His  pity  for  the  proud. 


Bailey. 


WHEN  all  the  weary  toil  with  which  we  wrought 
At  our  life's  work,  undaunted  by  defeat, 
Falls  from  the  nerveless  grasp,  the  goal  we  sought 
All  unattained,  our  work  all  incomplete: 

Count  not  God's  plan  defeated  in  the  life 
He  gave  to  us,  nor  all  our  toil  in  vain, 

Because  we  are  not  victors  in  the  strife  : 

Who  bravely  fights  and  nobly  bears  his  pain, 

Wrests  victory  from  defeat.     Not  what  we  win, 
But  what  we  strive  for,  doth  the  Master  heed. 

If  what  we  sought  to  be  we  have  not  been, 
Our  striving  may  have  helped  another's  need. 

Laura  B.  Boych. 


GOD'S  justice  is  a  bed,  where  we 
Our  anxious  hearts  may  lay, 
And  weary  with  ourselves,  may  sleep 
Our  discontent  away. 


S6  Songs  in  fjmniliation. 

I   HAVE  borne  scorn  and  hatred, 
I  have  borne  wrong  and  shame, 
Earth's  proud  ones  have  reproached  me, 

For  Christ's  thrice-blessed  name  : 
Where  God's  seal  set  the  fairest, 

They've  stamped  their  foulest  brand  ; 
But  judgment  shines  like  noonday 
In  Immanuel's  land. 


OH,  deem  not  they  are  blest  alone 
Whose  lives  a  peaceful  tenor  keep  : 
For  God  who  pities  man,  hath  shown 
A  blessing  for  the  eyes  that  weep. 

The  light  of  smiles  shall  fill  again 
The  lids  that  overflow  with  tears  : 

And  weary  hours  of  woe  and  pain 
Are  promises  of  happier  years. 

There  is  a  day  of  sunny  rest 

For  every  dark  and  troubled  night : 

And  grief  may  bide  an  evening  guest, 
But  joy  shall  come  with  early  light. 

Nor  let  the  good  man's  trust  depart, 
Though  life  its  common  gifts  deny  : 

Though  with  a  pierced  and  broken  heart 
And  spurned  of  men  he  goes  to  die. 


Songs  in  humiliation.  87 

For  God  has  marked  each  sorrowing  day, 

And  numbered  every  secret  tear, 
And  heaven's  long  age  of  bliss  shall  pay, 

For  all  his  children  suffer  here  ! 

Bryant. 


THE  moon  was  pallid  but  not  faint  ; 
And  beautiful  as  some  fair  saint, 
Serenely  moving  on  her  way 
In  hours  of  trial  and  dismay. 
As  if  she  heard  the  voice  of  God, 
Unharmed  with  naked  feet  she  trod 
Upon  the  hot  and  burning  stars, 
As  on  the  glowing  coals  and  bars. 
They  were  to  prove  her  strength,  and  try 
Her  holiness  and  purity. 

Longfellow. 


HEART,  my  heart,  be  strong  ! 
Thou  art  shrinking  from  the  pain, 
Wilt  thou  seek  a  rest  from  pain  ? 
Seek  rest — while  on  earth  remain 
Sin  and  shame  and  wrong  ? 


88  Songs  in  i^nmiliation. 

Heart,  my  heart,  seek  naught ; 
Naught  for  self.     Thou  art  so  lonely  ? 
Christ  into  the  desert  lonely 
Calleth  great  souls: — Heart,  so  only 

Can  thy  work  be  wrought. 

Heart,  my  heart,  be  still  ; 
Thou  art  crying  out  for  love, 
Breaking,  for  the  lack  of  love. 
Love  abides  with  God  above — 

Bear  thou  here  the  ill. 

A.  Werner. 


BLEST,  by  whom  most  the  cross  is  known  ; 
God  whets  us  on  his  grinding-stone  ; 
Full  many  a  garden  's  dressed  in  vain, 
Where  tears  of  sorrow  never  rain. 
In  fiercest  flames  the  gold  is  tried, 
In  griefs  the  Christian  's  purified. 

Midst  crosses,  faith  her  triumph  knows, 
The  palm-tree  pressed  more  vigorous  grows  ; 
Go,  tread  the  grapes  beneath  thy  feet, 
The  stream  that  flows  is  full  and  sweet. 
In  trouble,  virtues  grow  and  shine, 
Like  pearls  beneath  the  ocean  brine. 


Songs  in  humiliation.  89 

Crosses  abound,  love  seeks  the  skies  ; 
Blow  the  rude  winds,  the  flames  arise : 
When  hopeless  gloom  the  welkin  shrouds, 
The  sun  comes  laughing  through  the  clouds  ; 
The  cross  makes  pure  affection  glow, 
Like  oil  that  on  the  fire  we  throw. 


"Who  wears  the  cross  prays  oft  and  well ; 
Bruised  herbs  send  forth  the  sweetest  smell  : 
Were  ships  ne'er  tossed  by  stormy  wind, 
The  pole  star  who  would  care  to  find  ? 
Had  David  spent  no  darksome  hours, 
His  sweetest  sono-s  had  ne'er  been  ours. 


From  trouble  springs  the  longing  hope  ; 
From  the  deep  vale  we  mount  the  slope ; 
Who  treads  the  desert's  dreariest  way, 
For  Canaan  most  will  long  and  pray  ; 
Here,  finds  the  trembling  dove  no  rest, 
Flies  to  the  ark,  and  builds  her  nest. 


Oh,  think  upon  that  jewel  fair, 
And  heaviest  griefs  are  light  as  air  ! 

Tr.  from  Schmolke.  by  Gurney. 


9°  Songs  in  humiliation. 

IN  a  far-away  land  on  a  stone  it  is  written, 
Chiseled  in  characters  fair  to  the  sight, 
In  the  place  where  He  labored,  loved  and  was  smitten, 
"The  way  of  the  Cross  is  the  way  of  light." 

Beautiful  words  !  forever  outsending 

The  story  of  Christ  and  His  wonderful  might, 

Telling  of  love  to  the  lowest  one  bending, 
"  The  way  of  the  Cross  is  the  way  of  light." 

Beautiful  truth,  on  my  life  be  thy  shining  ! 

Sun  of  my  day  and  star  of  my  night  ; 
So  shall  I  walk  unmoved,  unrepining. 

"  The  way  of  the  Cross  is  the  way  of  light." 


FRET  not  thyself  so  sorely,  heart  of  mine, 
For  that  the  pain  hath  roughly  broke  thy  rest,- 
That  thy  wild  flowers  lie  dead  upon  thy  breast, 
Whereon  the  cloud  hath  ceased  to  shine. 


Fret  not  that  thou  art  seamed,  and  scarred  and  torn ; 

That  clods  are  piled  where  tinted  vetches  were  ; 

That  long  worms  crawl   to  light,  and  brown  rifts 
bare 
Of  green  and  tender  grasses,  widely  yawn. 


Songs   in   humiliation.  91 

God's  hand  is  on  the  plow.     So  be  thou  still. 

Thou  canst  not  see  Him,  for  thine  eyes  are  dim  ; 

But  wait  in  patience,  put  thy  trust  in  Him — 
Give  thanks  for  love,  and  leave  thee  to  His  will. 

Ah  !  in  due  time  the  lowering  clouds  shall  rain 
Soft  drops  on  my  parched  furrows  ;  I  shall  sow 
In  tears  and   prayers,  and  green  corn   blades  will 
grow;  — 

I  shall  not  wish  the  wild  flowers  back  again. 

I  shall  be  glad  that  I  did  work  and  weep — 

Be  glad,  O  God,  my  slumbering  soul  did  wake — 
Be  glad  my  heart  did  heave  and  break 

Beneath  the  plow — when  angels  come  to  reap. 


GOOD  night,  my  foe  !  not  all  the  wrong  is  thine, 
My  share  I  own ; 
Forgive  !  we  human  know  one  word  divine — 
The  sun  goes  down  ! 


Good  night,  good  friend  !  though  poor  my  gifts  to  thee 

I  will  not  fret ; 
The  richer  thou  whose  bounty  is  so  free, 

And  sweet  my  debt. 


92  Songs  in  fijnmiliati0n. 


No  longer  to  revenge  or  to  repay 
I  strive  or  seek, 

Empty  I  came,  most  empty  go  away, 
Empty  and  weak. 


As  one  who  wakes  no  more  to  smile  or  weep 

Another  day, 
So  would  I  humbly  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 

And  humbly  say, — 


O  Thou,  who  hadst  not  where  to  lay  Thy  head, 

As  poor  were  I, 
Didst  not  Thy  mercy  make  for  me  a  bed 

Whereon  to  die. 

Harriet  McEwen  Kimball. 


BE  still,  my  soul ;  Jehovah  loveth  thee  ; 
Fret  not  nor  murmur  at  thy  humbled  lot; 
Though  dark  and  lone  thy  journey  seems  to  be, 

Be  sure  that  thou  art  ne'er  by  Him  forgot. 
He  ever  loves;  then  trust  Him,  trust  Him  still, 
Let  all  thy  care  be  this,  the  doing  of  His  will. 

HORATIUS  BONAR, 


Bangs  in  humiliation.  93 


0' 


^H  !    tried  heart- 
God  knows  ! 
Not  you  nor  I 

Who  reach  our  hands  for  gifts 
That  wise  love  must  deny — 
We  blunder,  where  we  fain  would  do  our  best — 
Until  aweary,  then  we  cry,  "  Do  Thou  the  rest ;  " 
And  in  His  hands  the  tangled  skein  we  place 
Of  our  poor  blind  weaving  with  a  shamed  face — 
All  trust  of  ours  He  sacredly  will  keep; 
So  tired  heart — 
God  knows  ! 
Go  thou  to  work  or  sleep. 

Mabel  . 


IN  this  cruel  fire  of  sorrow, 
Cast  thy  heart.     Nor  faint,  nor  wail, 
Let  thy  hand  be  firm  and  steady, 

Do  not  let  thy  spirit  quail. 
Wait  thou  till  the  trial  passes, 

Take  thou  then  thy  heart  again, 
For  as  gold  is  tried  by  fire, 
So  a  heart  is  tried  by  pain. 

I  shall  know  by  the  gleam  and  glitter 
Of  the  golden  chain  you  wear, 

By  your  heart's  calm  strength  in  loving, 
Of  the  fire  you  had  to  bear. 


94  Bong©  in  humiliation. 

Beat  on,  true  heart,  forever  ! 

Shine  !  bright,  strong,  golden  chain, 
Blessing  the  cleansing  fire, 

And  the  furnace  of  living  pain  ! 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 


HOW  dark  this  world  would  be 
If  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 

We  could  not  fly  to  Thee  ! 
The  friends,  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give, 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 
But  thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart, 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part, 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe. 

When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers, 

And  e'en  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears, 

Is  dimmed  and  vanished  too, 
Oh,  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom, 

Did  not  Thy  Wing  of  Love 
Come,  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom 

Our  Peace-branch  from  above  ? 


Songs  in  humiliation.  95 

Then  sorrow,  touched  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray  ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  saw  by  day  ! 

Thomas  Moore. 


CAUGHT  in  the  bitter  net  of  circumstance 
We  strive  and  faint  amid  each  baffling  fold, 
While  careless  fingers  take  or  miss  the  chance, 

Or  idle  with  the  precious  thing  they  hold  ; 
And  favored  darlings  of  the  world  look  clown 

From  the  fair  height,  by  fate  or  birthright  given, 
Wondering  to  see  how  under  fortune's  frown 
Along  steep  paths  our  tired  feet  are  driven. 

Carest  Thou  not  ?     Our  prized  ambitions  fail, 

Our  dearest  droop,  in  dull  days  shadowed  too, 
Their  young  eyes  forced  to  read  the  weary  tale, 

While  their  vain  struggles  our  past  pangs  renew; 
We  fain  would  see,  and  save,  and  live,  and  laugh ; 

Fain  would  have  honest  heart  and  open  hand ; 
Ah  !  hope  and  love  make  but  a  breaking  staff, 

When  'mid  our  shattered  dreams  alone  we  stand. 

Carest  Thou  not,  O  Lord  ?     Old  age  creeps  on, 
Blighting  each  lingering  bloom  we  dare  to  cherish  ; 

A  little  while,  and  the  last  day  is  done. 

Carest  Thou  not,  O  Lord,  because  we  perish  ? 


96  Songs   in  ^nmiliation. 


Oh,  stretch  the  right  hand,  strong  to  stay  and  save  ! 

Speak,  through  wild  winds  above,wild  seas  beneath ; 
Say-,  despite  failing  life  and  opening  grave, 

"  Why  will  ye  doubt,  O  ye  of  little  faith  ?  " 


WE  ask  Thy  Peace,  O  Lord  ! 
Through  storm  and  fear  and  strife, 
To  light  and  guide  us  on, 

Through  a  long  and  struggling  life; 
While  no  success  or  gain 

Shall  cheer  the  desperate  fight \ 
Or  nerve  what  the  world  calls 

Our  wasted  might : — 
Give  us  Thy  Peace,  O  Lord, 
Divine  and  blest. 

Adelaide  Proctor. 


V. 


SONGS  IN  POVERTY. 


1 '  Who  through  long  days  of  labor, 
And  nights  devoid  of  ease, 
Still  heard  in  his  soul  the  music 
Of  wonderful  melodies." 


"There  is  always  hope  for   a    man    that  actually  and 
earnestly  works." 

"  A  man's  a  man  for  a*  that." 


44  What    is    really  best  for    us    lies  always   within   our 
reach." 


"  I  am  the  minister  of  Mars, 

The  strongest  star  among  the  stars  ! 

My  songs  of  power  prelude. 
The  march  and  battle  of  man's  life 
And  for  the  suffering  and  the  strife 

I  give  him  Fortitude  ! " 


SONGS  IN  POVERTY. 


u  Let  us  wipe  our  tears,  lift  up  our  heads,  and  gird  ourselves  for 
brave  and  cheerful  toil." 


THE  helper  of  his  mother, 
A  faithful  Hebrew  lad, 
For  sister  and  for  brother 

Christ  wrought  with  spirit  glad  ; 
And  made  that  cottage  lowly, 

That  work-bench  by  the  door, 
A  labor  lesson  holy 
To  love  for  evermore. 


O  sing  !  ye  tired  and  tearful, 
What  this  sweet  story  saith  ; 

For  all  that  's  brave  and  cheerful 
Comes  out  of  Nazareth  ! 


ioo  Songs  in  JJotJertj]. 

Let  serving  hands  fly  faster, 
New  years  new  burdens  bring, — 

Enough  !  iflike  your  Master, 
The  Carpenter  and  King. 

,  M.  Woolsey  Stryker. 


Happiest  man  among  men, 

Who,  with  hammer  or  chisel  or  pencil,  with  rudder 

or  ploughshare  or  pen, 
Laboreth  ever  with    hope  through    the  morning  of 

life. 

Round  swings  the  hammer  of  industry,  quickly  the 

sharp  chisel  rings, 
And  the  heart  of  the  toiler  has  throbbings  that  stir 

not  the  bosom  of  kings, — 
He  the  true  ruler  and  conqueror,  he  the  true  king  of 

his  race, 
Who  nerveth  his  arm  for  life's  combat,  and  looks  the 

strong  world  in  the  face. 

MacCarthy. 


LET  us  be  patient  with  our  lot, 
And  hopeful  of  the  morrow, 
Remembering  there  liveth  not 
A  soul  exempt  from  sorrow  ; 


Songs  in  JJoocrtg.  101 


And  even  should  the  cruel  hand 

Of  Poverty  oppress  us, 
Its  griefs  we  better  can  withstand, 

If  hopeful  hearts  possess  us. 

Contentment  cometh  not  from  wealth, 

Nor  ease  from  costly  living; 
The  best  of  blessings  peace  and  health 

Are  not  of  fortune's  giving; 
A  happy  heart  dependeth  not, 

On  fortune's  fickle  treasures, 
But  rather  seeks  a  lowly  lot, 

Content  with  simple  pleasures. 

The  ways  of  God  are  just  and  wise 

To  every  living  creature, 
In  every  ill  there  underlies 

Some  compensating  feature, 
And  when  the  lowly  feel  the  rod 

Most  sorely  on  them  pressing, 
Full  often  is  the  living  God 

Most  lavish  in  His  blessing. 

Josiah  Moody  Fletcher. 


OH  weary  heart  of  the  toiler  !  Turn 
From  the  maze  of  doubt  and  the  dust  of  strife, 
And  look  for  once,  on  the  empty  urn, 
And  the  wide-strewn  ashes  of  vanished  life, 


102  Songs  in  JJotJerts. 

And  then,  beholding  thy  better  hope 

With  starward  gaze  and  dauntless  brow, 

See  the  pearly  gates  which  the  angels  ope; 
This  is  the  fruit  of  the  topmost  bough. 

William  Byrd  Chrisholm. 


*  Lab  or  are  est  or  are : 

We,  black-visaged  sons  of  toil, 
From  the  coal  mine  and  the  anvil, 

And  the  delving  of  the  soil, — 
From  the  loom,  the  wharf,  the  warehouse, 

And  the  ever-whirling  mill, 
Out  of  grim  and  hungry  silence 

Raise  a  weak  small  voice  and  shrill ; — 
Laborare  est  orare  : 

Man  dost  hear  us  ?     God,  He  will. 

We  wrho  just  can  keep  from  starving 

Sickly  wives, — not  always  mild ; 
Trying  not  to  curse  Heaven's  bounty 

When  it  sends  another  child, — 
We,  who  worn  out,  doze  on  Sundays 

O'er  the  Book  we  strive  to  read, 
Cannot  understand  the  parson 

Or  the  catechism  and  creed, 
Laborare  est  orare  : — 

Then,  good  sooth,  we  pray  indeed. 
*  Labor  is  prayer. 


Songs  in  JJotJertg.  103 

Lab  or  are  est  or  are  : 

Hear  it,  ye  of  spirit  poor, 
Who  sit  crouching  at  the  threshold 

While  your  brethren  force  the  door  ; 
Ye  whose  ignorance  stands  wringing 

Rough  hands,  seamed  with  toil,  nor  dares 
Lift  so  much  as  eyes  to  heaven, — 

Lo  !  all  life  this  truth  declares, 
Laborare  est  or  are  ; 

And  the  whole  earth  rings  with  prayers. 

Miss  Mulock. 


HE  looks  abroad  into  the  varied  field 
Of  nature  ;  and  though  poor,  perhaps,  compared 
With  those  whose  mansions  glitter  in  his  sight, 
Calls  the  delightful  scenery  all  his  own. 
His  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  his, 
And  the  resplendent  rivers.     His  to  enjoy 
With  a  propriety  none  can  feel, 
But  who,  with  filial  confidence  inspired, 
Can  lift  to  heaven  an  unpresumptuous  eye, 
And  smiling  say,  "  My  Father  made  them  all  !" 

Yes,  ye  may  fill  your  garners,  ye  that  reap 
The  loaded  soil,  and  ye  may  waste  much  good 
In  senseless  riot  ;  but  ye  will  not  find 


104  Songs  in  fJotJrrtg. 

In  feast,  or  in  the  chase,  in  song-  or  dance, 
A  liberty  like  his,  who  unimpeached 
Of  usurpation,  and  to  no  man's  wrong", 
Appropriates  nature  as  his  Father's  work. 

COWPER. 


My  wine  has  run 
Indeed  out  of  my  cup,  and  there  is  none 
To  gather  up  the  bread  of  my  repast, 
Scattered  and  trampled, — -yet  I  find  some  good 
In  earth's  green  herbs,  and  streams  that  bubble  up 
Clear  from  the  darkling  ground, — content  until 
I  sit  with  angels  before  better  food. 

E.  B.  Browning. 


IF  by  our  toil  another's  feet  may  rise 
And  climb  the  starry  heights  we  fain  would  gain, 
Into  a  purer  air  and  clearer  skies, 

Surely  our  work  shall  not  have  been  in  vain. 

Laura  B.  Boyce. 


Thy  gifts  sustain 
The  body's  needs,  but  poverty  and  pain 
Oft  minister  to  higher  wants  than  these 

The  spirit  sees. 


Songs  in  JJouerts.  105 

Then  come  what  will, 
Prosperity  or  failure,  good  or  ill, 
Unknown  or  understood,  still  be  adored 

Thy  ways,  O  Lord  ! 

Christian  Register. 


NOT  all  who  seemed  to  fail  have  failed  indeed  ; 
Not  all  who  fail  have  therefore  worked  in  vain  ; 
For  all  our  acts  to  many  issues  lead  ; 
And  out  of  earnest  purpose,  pure  and  plain, 
Enforced  by  honest  toil  of  hand  or  brain, 
The  Lord  will  fashion,  in  his  own  good  time, — 
Be  this  the  laborer's  proudly  humble  creed, — 
Such  ends  as  to  His  wisdom  fittest  chime 
With  His  vast  love's  eternal  harmonies. 


FASTEN  your  soul  so  high  that  constantly 
The  smile  of  your  heroic  cheer  may  float 
Above  the  floods  of  earthly  agonies. 

E.  B.  Browning. 


L 


ABOR  !  all  labor  is  noble  and  holy  ! 
Let  thy  great  deed  be  thy  prayer  to  thy  God. 

Frances  S.  Osgood. 


106  Songs  in  JJooerts. 

SHALL  one  who  does  God's  image  bear, 
And  shares  each  day  his  tender  care, 
Forgotten  live  and  die  ? 
Did  Christ  descend  the  rich  to  bless, 
And  turn  from  sin  to  righteousness, 
And  all  the  poor  pass  by  ? 

Ah  no  !  with  poverty  he  dwelt, 
And  want  in  every  form  he  felt, 

E'en  to  the  want  of  friends, — 
To-day,  as  yesterday  the  same, 
This  friend,  the  humble  poor  may  claim, 

To  all  his  love  extends. 

A.  J.  S.,  in  "  New  Hampshire  Poets." 


THE  heart  grows  richer  that  its  lot  is  poor, — 
God  blesses  want  with  larger  sympathies, — 
Love  enters  gladliest  at  the  humble  door, 
And  makes  the  cot  a  palace  with  his  eyes. 

Lowell. 


WHATE'ER  God  does  is  well ! 
His  children  find  it  so. 
Some  He  doth  not  with  plenty  bless, 
Yet  loves  them  not  the  less ; 


Songs  in  JJcwertg.  107 

But  draws  their  hearts  unto  Himself  away. 
O  hearts,  obey  ! 


Whate'er  God  does  is  well, 

Whether  He  gives  or  takes  ! 

And  what  we  from  His  hand  receive 

Suffices  us  to  live. 
He  takes  and  gives  while  yet  He  loves  us  still. 

Then  love  His  will. 

And  what  can  our  will  do  ? 
We  cannot  reap  from  what  we  sow 
But  what  His  power  makes  grow. 
Sometimes  He  doth  all  other  good  destroy, 

To  be  thy  joy. 
And  He  our  God  knows  all  our  weary  days. 

Come  !  give  Him  praise. 

SCHMOLKE,   l6l2. 


COME  in,  O  gracious  Form  !     I  say — 
O  Workman,  share  my  house  of  clay  ! 
Then  I,  at  bench,  or  desk,  or  oar, 
With  last,  or  needle,  net,  or  pen, 

As  thou  in  Nazareth  of  yore, 
Shall  do  the  Father's  will  again. 


108  Songs  in  tyovzxty. 

IN  Poverty's  dark  cell  I  sit, 
And  gaze  upon  the  heavenly  faces, 
That  bid  me  to  those  luminous  spaces 
Through  which  at  length,  my  soul  shall  flit. 


WHETHER  winds  blow  foul  or  fair, 
Through  want  and  woe  and  toil  or  care, 
Still  will  I  struggle  up  to  Thee  : 
That  though  my  winter  days  be  long, 
And  brighter  skies  refuse  to  come, 
My  life  no  less  may  sweetly  bloom, 
And  none  the  less  be  full  of  song. 


WHY  art  thou  full  of  anxious  fear 
How  thou  shalt  be  sustained  and  fed  ? 
He  who  hath  made  and  placed  thee  here 

Will  give  thee  needful  daily  bread. 
Canst  thou  not  trust  His  rich  and  bounteous  hand, 
Who  feeds  all  living  things  on  sea  and  land  ? 
Be  thou  content. 


Songs   in  JJoucrtn.  109 


He  who  doth  teach  the  little  birds 
To  find  their  meat  in  field  and  wood, 

Who  gives  the  countless  flocks  and  herds 
Each  day  their  needful  drink  and  food, 

Thy  hunger  too  will  surely  satisfy, 

And  all  thy  wants  in  His  good  time  supply. 
Be  thou  content. 

Paul  Gerhardt. 


T 


HE  Master,  ere  His  work  was  done, 
Breathed  this  sweet  message  for  his  own 
As  near  to  death  he  drew, — 
My  peace  I  leave  with  you." 


"  My  peace  " — but  not  the  loneliness 
Xor  friend,  nor  home,  nor  child  to  bless, — 
But  not  his  scorned  and  hated  name, 
Nor  yet  his  poverty  and  shame  ; 

These  bitter  things  he  knew, — 

But  left  his  peace  for  you. 


Beloved,  take  the  gift  anew  ; 

It  passeth  knowledge,  deep  and  true. 


no 


Songs  in  tflovtxto. 


Tender  as  is  the  brooding  dove, 
And  stronger  than  the  heart  of  love, 

Its  home — the  Father's  breast — 

Was  left  to  bring  you  rest. 

Mrs.  Luther  Keknb. 


VI. 


SONGS  IN  CAPTIVITY. 


"Dome  up,  O  heaven  !  yet  higher  o'er  my  head  ! 
Back  !  back,  horizon  !  widen  out  my  world  !  " 


"  Let  star-wheels  and  angel  wings,  with  their  holy  win- 

nowings. 
Keep  beside  you  all  your  way, 
Lest   in  passion  you  should  dash,  with  a  blind  and  heavy 

crash, 
Up  against  the  thick-bossed  shield  of  God's  judgment  in 

the  field." 


"  God's  greatness  flows  around  our  incompleteness  ; 
Round  our  restlessness — His  rest." 


SONGS  IN  CAPTIVITY. 

1  There  went  a  swift  bird  singing  past  my  cell — 
O  Love  and  Freedom  !  ye  are  lovely  things  ! " 


J   SIT  upon  a  cypress  bough 
Close  to  the  gate  ;  and  I  fling  my  song 
Over  the  gate  and  through  the  mail 
Of  the  warden  angels  marshaled  strong, — 

Over  the  gate  and  after  you  ! 
And  the  warden  angels  let  it  pass, 
(Because  the  poor  brown  bird,  alas  !  ' 

Sings  in  the  garden  sweet  and  true.) 
And  I  build  my  song  of  high,  pure  notes, 

Note  over  note,  height  over  height, 

Till  I  strike  the  arch  of  the  Infinite  ; 
And  I  bridge  abysmal  agonies 
With  strong,  clear  calms  of  harmonies. 

{Song.)        Exiled  human  creatures 

Let  your  hope  grow  larger, 
Larger  grows  the  vision 
Of  the  new  delights. 


H4  Songs  in  Ctaptitrits. 


From  this  chain  of  Nature's 
God  is  the  discharger  : 
And  the  actual  prison 
Opens  to  your  sight. 

Hear  us  singing  gently 
Exiled  is  not  lost  ! 
God,  above  the  starlight, 
God  above  the  patience, 
Shall  at  last  present  ye 
Guerdons  worth  the  cost. 
Patiently  enduring, 
Painfully  surrounded. 
Listen  how  we  love  you — 
Hope  the  uttermost, 
Waiting  for  that  curing 
Which  exalts  the  wounded, 
Hear  us  sing  above  you — 
Exiled  but  not  lost  / 

E.  B.  Browning. 


A  LITTLE  bird  I  am, 
Shut  from  the  fields  of  air  : 
And  in  my  cage  I  sit  and  sing 

To  him  who  placed  me  there. 
Well  pleased  a  prisoner  to  be 
Because  it  pleaseth  thee. 


Songs  in  (Eaptitritih  115 

Naught  have  I  else  to  do, 

I  sing  the  whole  day  long, 
And  he  whom  most  I  love  to  please 

Doth  listen  to  my  song  ; 
He  caught  and  bound  my  wandering  wing, 
But  still  he  bends  to  hear  me  sing. 

My  cage  confines  me  'round, 

Abroad  I  cannot  fly  ; 
But  though  my  wing  is  closely  bound 

My  heart's  at  liberty  ; 
My  prison  walls  cannot  control 
The  flight,  the  freedom  of  the  soul. 

Madam  Guyon's  ""Prison  Hymn" 


1 ORROYV    and    silence    are    strong,    and     patient 
)     endurance  is  godlike. 

Longfellow. 


GOD    plumeth    many    a    spirit,    still    withholding 
space  to  soar, 
Bids  it  wait  with  folded  pinion  till  He  openeth   wide 

the  door  : 
Seals  a  sense  that  still  respondeth  dimly  to  some  dis- 
tant good, 
Stirring  all  the  mortal  nature  with  an  unborn  angel- 
hood. 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney. 


n6  Songs  in  (Kaptimtj). 


O  LITTLE  bird  !  that  all  the  weary  day 
Art  beating-  thy  soft  breast  against  the  wire, 
And  singing  many  a  weak  and  feeble  lay, 
Thy  song  lost  in  the  passion  of  desire, 

O  dost  thou  dream  of  winnowing  the  air 

At  dewy  dawn — untrammeled,  gay  and  free, 

Feeling  again  — oh  !  bliss  beyond  compare — 
The  olden  thrill  of  thy  lost  liberty  ? 

Thou  restless  one  !     Dost  dream  of  meadow  rills, 
Speeding  away  the  daisied  meadows  through; 

Of  sighing  pines  upon  far,  lonely  hills ; 
Of  myriad  voices  that  thy  freedom  knew  : 

Of  silent  nights  in  forests  darkly  deep, 
Lit  dimly  by  a  pale  moon  sailing  high, 

When  gentle  winds  rocked  thee  and  thine  to  sleep 
With  many  a  softly  murmured  lullaby  ? 

Unhappy  one  !     I'd  tell  thee  if  I  could, 
The  uselessness  of  warring  against  fate. 

Fold  thy  soft  wings,  and,  as  in  leafy  wood, 
Sing  thy  best  song,  and  for  thy  freedom  wait. 

Perhaps  e'er  long,  in  notes  of  ecstacy, 

Thy  song  shall  scorn  thy  narrow  prison  bars, 

And  in  a  burst  of  rapturous  melody 

Seek  endless  freedom  'mongst  the  distant  stars. 


Songs   in  (Eaptitritii.  117 


Then  all  forgotten  will  thy  longing"  be  : 
Contented  thou  wilt  occupy  thy  place  : 

For  thy  sweet  song,  the  supreme  part  of  thee, 
Will  still  be  sounding  through  the  fields  of  space. 

Ada  Gale. 


I    KNOW  a  dark  and  lonely  dell, 
A  forest  nook  where  elves  might  dwell, 
So  lost  in  shade,  so  far  away, 
It  seems  forgotten  of  the  day. 

But  iii  the  waving  hemlocks  high 

There  is  an  island  of  blue  sky — 

A  little  space,  o'er  which  are  blown 

White  clouds,  and  where  the  stars  look  down. 

'Tis  so  with  thee,  forsaken  heart, 
However  cold  and  lost  thou  art, 
However  lost  to  human  ken, 
And  narrow  sympathies  of  men. 

Look  up  !  thou  hast  the  strip  of  sky; 
Thine  outlook  opens  wide  and  high, 
Where  loves,  like  stars,  forever  shine, 
And  sympathies  are  deep,  divine. 

James  Buckham. 


n8  Songs   in  QTapthritg. 

HE  is  the  freeman  whom  the  truth  makes  free, 
And  all  are  slaves  beside.     There's  not  a  chain 
That  hellish  foes  confederate  for  his  harm 
Can  wind  around  him,  but  he  casts  it  off 
With  as  much  ease  as  Samson  with  his  green  withes. 

His  freedom  is  the  same  in  every  state ; 
And  no  condition  of  this  changeful  life, 
So  manifold  in  cares,  whose  every  day 
Brings  its  own  evil  with  it,  makes  it  less. 
For  he  has  wings  that  neither  sickness,  pain, 
Nor  penury  can  cripple  or  confine  ; 
No  nook  so  narrow  but  he  spreads  them  there 
With  ease,  and  is  at  large.     The  oppressor  holds 
His  body  bound  ;  but  knows  not  what  a  range 
His  spirit  takes,  unconscious  of  a  chain; 
And  that  to  bind  him  is  a  vain  attempt, 
Whom  God  delights  in,  and  in  whom  he  dwells. 

COWPER. 


H 


OPE  in  our  souls  is  king  ; 
And  the  king  never  dies  ! 


Longfellow. 


WERE  there  no  night  we  could  not  read  the  stars, 
The  heavens  would  turn  into  a  blinding  glare; 
Freedom  is  best  seen  through  prison  bars. 
And  rough  seas  make  the  haven  passing  fair. 


Songs  in   (Eaptitritt}.  119 


We  cannot  measure  joys  but  by  their  loss, 
When  blessings  fade  away  we  see  them  then  ; 

Our  richest  clusters  grow  around  the  cross, 
And  in  the  night-time  angels  sing  to  men. 


The  seed  must  first  lie  buried  deep  in  earth, 

Before  the  lily  opens  to  the  sky  ; 
So,  "  light  is  sown,"  and  gladness  has  its  birth, 

In  the  dark  deeps  where  we  can  only  cry. 


Come  then,  my  soul,  be  brave  to  bear  ; 

Thy  life  is  bruised  that  it  may  be  more  sweet  ; 
The  cross  will  soon  be  left,  the  crown  we'll  wear; 

Nay,  we  will  cast  it  at  our  Saviour's  feet. 

Henry  Burton. 


HOMEWARD  the  swift-winged  seagull  takes  its 
flight, 
The  ebbing  tide  breaks  softly  on  the  sand  ; 
The  sunlit  boats  draw  shoreward  for  the  night ; 

The  shadows  deepen  over  sea  and  land  ; 
Be  still,  my  soul,  thine  hour  shall  also  come  ; 
Behold,  one  evening  God  shall  lead  thee  home. 


120  Songs  in  (Captitrits. 

THE  earth,  O  prisoned  soul,  is  thine. 
Rise  up  !  come  forth  !  in  sun  and  air 
Claim  and  possess  thy  rightful  share. 
Come  forth  !  in  love  and  life  divine, 
Thou  child  of  God  !  the  world  is  thine. 


IN  weariness  I  wait  and  pray, 
As  waits  the  restless  for  the  day  : 
Watching  the  still  starlight ! 
As  waits  the  soldier  in  reserve, 
While  longing  stirs  through  every  nerve  ! 

This  hour  in  patience  let  me  wait. 
Dawn  comes  not  premature  or  late. 

Then  better  far  than  I  have  sought, 
And  better  far  than  I  have  thought, 

God  will  give  what  is  best. 


ETERNAL  spirit  of  the  chainless  mind  ! 
Brightest  in  dungeons,  Liberty  !  thou  art, 
For  there  thy  habitation  is  the  heart. 

Byron. 


Songs   in   (JTaptitritp.  121 

OH,  our  Father,  our  Father, 
Hearest  Thou  not  our  pain  ? 
We  can  only  cry  as  the  young  birds  cry, 

Again,  and  yet  again  ; 
Blind,  and  helpless,  and  almost  mad, 
And  shall  our  crying  be  vain  ? 

Oh  !  our  Father,  our  Father, 

We  have  heard  them  speak  of  Thee, 

But  our  eyes  are  dim  and  our  hearts  are  dull, 
And  we  know  not  if  Thou  be — 

The  yoke-bound  neck,  and  the  fettered  hand, 
Bowed  to  the  dust  are  we. 

Oh  !  our  Father,  our  Father, 

Dwelling  in  love  and  light ! 
There  is  none  to  guide  us,  or  hear  our  cry. 

In  the  weary,  pathless  night, 
Earth  is  burdened  with  cruel  wrong — 

Wilt  thou  not  do  us  right  ? 

A.  Werner,  in  *  The  King  of  the  Silver  City" 


IS  not  the  night  all  dark,  and  murky  with  vapors 
of  Death  ? 
Stars  there  are  none  to  see,  and  the  rank  mist  chokes 
our  breath, 


122  Songs  in  QTaptitritg. 

And  the  chains  have  cut  to  the  soul.     Nay  now — 

have  we  souls  at  all  ? 
All   man's   glories   stripped   from   us — have   we  yet 

lower  to  fall  ? 
Since   we  have  no    sunrise,   no  moon   nor  stars  to 

shine  ! 


Listen,  O  helpless  and  weary  !  the  time  is  coming — 

but  wait  ! — 
Lift  up  your  eyes  in  hope  to  the  heaven's    eastern 

gate  ! — 
It    shall  glow  with  gold   anon, — and   then  there  is 

work  for  you  / 

A.  W. ,  in  Cambridge  Review. 


Behold  the  throng 
Of  wounded  souls  that  bear  some  gloomy  wrong. 
Ah  !  sorrowing  friend,  what  multitudes  to-day 
Walk  by  thy  side,  unknown,  the  thorny  way, 
And  walk  in  darkness,  praying  for  the  light, 
Like  one  who  walks  his  chamber  in  the  night, 
And  ever  through  the  window  looks  away 
Into  the  chilly  night,  and  longs  for  day  ! 


Songs  in  (Eciptitritp.  123 

One     .     .     source  remains  to  soothe  thy  breast, 
The  one  great  comfort  which  includes  the  rest  : 
Submit  thy  sorrow  and  thy  soul  to  God, 
And  learn  what  peace  it  is  to  kiss  His  rod, 
Who  answers  wishes  ere  they  turn  to  prayers 
And  with  his  blessing  takes  us  unawares — 
Who  girds  us,  though  we  know  Him  not,  and  stands 
Above  us  always  with  his  helping  hands. 
As  when  a  little  child,  returned  from  play, 
Finds  the  door  closed  and  latched  across  its  way, 
Against  the  door,  with  infant  push  and  strain, 
It  gathers  all  its  strength  and  strives  in  vain  ; — 
Unseen  within,  a  loving  father  stands, 
And  lifts  the  iron  latch  with  easy  hands  ; 
Then,  as  he  lightly  draws  the  door  aside, 
He  hides  behind  it,  while,  with  baby  pride 
And  face  aglow,  in  struts  the  little  one, 
Flushed  and  rejoiced  to  think  what  it  has  done  ! 
So,  when  men  find  across  life's  rugged  way 
Strong  doors  of  trouble,  barred  from  day  to  day, 
And  strive  with  all  their  power  of  knees  and  hands, 
Unseen  within,  their  Heavenly  Father  stands, 
And  lifts  each  iron  latch,  while  men  pass  through, 
Flushed  and  rejoiced  to  think  what  they  can  do. 

Abraham  Perry  Miller. 


SHUT  in  with  tears  that  are  spent  in  vain, 
Shut  in  with  the  dull  companionship  of  pain; 
Shut  in  with  the  changeless  days  and  hours, 
And  the  bitter  knowledge  of  failing  powers. 


124  Songs  in  Capthritu. 

Shut  in  with  dreams  of  days  gone  by, 
With  buried  joys  that  are  born  to  die; 
Shut  in  with  hopes  that  have  lost  their  zest, 
And  leave  but  a  longing  after  rest. 

Shut  in  with  a  trio  of  angels  sweet, 
Patience  and  grace  all  pain  to  meet, 
And  faith  that  can  suffer,  and  stand  and  wait, 
And  lean  on  the  promises  strong  and  great. 


"  T  TNTO  the  hills  I  lift  mine  eyes," 
LJ    And  following  them  I  seek  the  skies 
To  which  they  point  and  seem  to  say 
Christ  is  our  strength  by  night  as  day. 

I  take  the  lesson  to  my  heart. 
Dear  Lord,  let  me  not  grow  apart 
From  that  sweet  faith  which  bids  hope  rise 
And  like  those  mountains  seek  the  skies, 
Where  thou  dost  dwell  in  all  thy  might, 
To  guard  thy  people  day  and  night. 

"  Unto  the  hills,"  yes,  unto  Thee 
Mine  eyes  shall  turn  most  hopefully. 
For  hills  and  walls  shall  crumble,  Lord, 
But  they  who  rest  upon  Thy  word 
Shall  stand  secure,  and  know  Thee  true, 
^hough  skies  of  life  be  gray  or  blue. 


VII. 

SONGS  IN  FEAR. 


"  He  has  not  learned  the  lesson  of  a  life  who  does  not 
every  day  surmount  a  fear.' 

"  Write  on  your  doors  the  saying,  wise  and  old, 
*  Be  bold  !  be  bold  ! '  and  everywhere  '  Be  bold  ! '  *' 

"  Go  forth  and  meet  the  shadowy  future  without  fear, 
and  with  a  manly  heart." 


"  Let   not   your  heart   be   troubled,  neither   let   it  be 
afraid  !  " 


SONGS  IN  FEAR. 

14  Go  and  dare  before  you  die  !  " 
"  Our  valors  are  our  best  gods." 


TIS  the  bold  who  win  the  race, 
Whether  for  gold,  or  love,  or  name; 
Tis  the  true  ones  always  face 
Dangers  and  trials,  and  win  a  place, 
A  niche  in  the  fane  of  fame. 


WORKMAN  of  God,  oh,  lose  not  heart  ! 
But  learn  what  God  is  like  ; 
And  in  the  darkest  battle-field, 
Thou  shalt  know  where  to  strike. 

M  Songs  of  DevoTio^.' 


i28  Songs  in  Jfear. 


GO  breathe  it  in  the  ear 
Of  all  who  doubt  and  fear, 
And  say  to  them,   "Be  of  good  cheer  !  " 

Longfellow. 


THERE  is  a  grandeur  in  the  soul  that  dares 
To  live  out  all  the  life  God  lit  within  ; 
That  battles  with  the  passions  hand  to  hand, 
And  wears  no  mail,  and  hides  behind  no  shield  ; 
That  plucks  its  joy  in  the  shadow  of  death's  wing, 
That  drains  with  one  deep  draught  the  wine  of  life, 
And  that  with  fearless  foot  and  heaven-turned  eyes, 
May  stand  upon  a  dizzy  precipice, 
High  over  the  abyss  of  ruin  and  not  fall. 

Sara  J.  Clarke. 


PLAN  not,  nor  scheme,  but  calmly  wait; 
His  choice  is  best, 
While  blind  and  erring  is  thy  sight; 
His  wisdom  sees  and  judges  right ; 
So  trust  and  rest. 

Strive  not,  nor  struggle  ;  thy  poor  might 

Can  never  wrest 
The  meanest  thing  to  serve  thy  will  ; 
All  power  is  His  alone  ;  be  still, 

And  trust  and  wait. 


Songs  in  Scar.  129 

What  dost  thou  fear  ?     His  wisdom  reigns 

Supreme,  confessed; 
His  power  is  infinite  ;  His  love 
Thy  deepest,  fondest  dreams  above ; 

So  trust  and  rest. 

Macduff. 


WHAT  foe  can  injure  me  ? 
Why  bid  me  like  a  bird 
Before  the  fowler  flee  ? 
The  Lord  is  on  His  heavenly  throne, 
And  He  will  shield  and  save  His  own. 

H.  F.  Lyte, 


STRONG  are  the  mountains,  Lord,   but  stronger 
Thou! 
Where  beats  the  tempest  on  the  hither  side, 
Beneath  their  shelter  bloom  the  vine  and  rose  ; 

So  do  Thy  choosen  ones  in  Thee  abide, 
Nor  fear  the  storm-wind  though  it  wildly  blows, 
All  undisturbed  in  their  secure  repose. 


130  Songs  in  Scar. 


OUR  very  perils  shut  us  in, 
To  thy  supporting  care; 
We  venture  on  the  awful  deep, 
And  find  our  courage  there. 

Oh,  there  are  heavenly  heights  to  reach 

In  many  a  fearful  place 
Where  the  poor  timid  heir  of  God 

Lies  blindly  on  his  face  ; 

Lies  languishing  for  life  divine 

That  he  shall  never  see 
Till  he  go  forward  at  Thy  sign 

And  trust  himself  to  Thee. 

Anna  Letitia  Waring. 


WHEN  sins  and  follies  long  forgot 
Upon  thy  tortured  conscience  prey, 
Oh,  come  to  God,  and  fear  Him  not  : 
His  love  shall  sweep  them  all  away; 
Pains  of  hell  at  look  of  His 
Change  to  calm  content  and  bliss. 


LET  us  be  like  the  bird,  one  instant  lighted 
Upon  a  twig  that  swings  ; 
He  feels  it  yield,  but  sings  on  unaffrighted, 
Knowing  he  has  his  wings. 

Victor  Hugo,  Tr.  by  Edwin  Arnold. 


Songs  in  £zax.  131 

DOWN  to  the  borders  of  the  silent  land 
He  goes  with  halting  feet  : 
He  dares  not  trust  ;  he  cannot  understand 

The  blessedness  complete, 
That  waits  for  God's  beloved  at  His  right  hand. 

He  dreads  to  see  God's  face  ;  for  though  the  pure 

Beholding  Him  are  blest, 
Yet  in  His  sight  no  evil  shall  endure  ; 

So  still,  with  fear  oppressed, 
He  looks  within  and  cries,  "  Who  can  be  sure  ?  " 

The  world  beyond  is  strange  :  the  golden  streets, 

The  palaces  so  fair, 
The  seraphs  singing  in  the  shining  seats — 

The  glory  everywhere; 
And  to  his  soul  he  solemnly  repeats 

The  visions  of  the  book.     "  Alas  !  "  he  cries, 

u  That  world  is  all  too  grand  ; 
Among  those  splendors  and  those  majesties 

I  would  not  dare  to  stand  : 
For  me,  a  lowlier  heaven  would  well  suffice  !  " 

Yet  faithful  in  his  lot  this  saint  hath  stood 
Through  service  and  through  pain  ; 

The  Lord  Christ  he  has  followed,  doing  good  ; 
Sure,  dying  must  be  gain 

To  one  who,  living,  hath  done  what  he  could. 


132  Songs  in  if  ear. 

The  light  is  fading  in  the  tired  eyes, 

The  weary  race  is  run  ; 
Not  as  the  victor  that  doth  seize  the  prize, 

But  as  the  fainting  one 
He  nears  the  verge  of  the  eternities. 

And  now  the  end  has  come,  and  now  he  sees 

The  happy,  happy  shore  ; 
Oh  fearful,  faint,  distrustful  soul,  are  these 

The  things  thou  feard'st  before, 
The  awful  majesties  that  spoiled  thy  peace? 

This  land  is  home  ;   no  stranger  art  thou  here  ; 

Sweet  and  familiar  words 
From  voices  silent  long  salute  thine  ear  ; 

And  winds  and  songs  of  birds 
And  bees  and  blooms  and  sweet  perfumes  are  near. 

The  seraphs — they  are  men  of  kindly  mien  ; 

The  gems  and  robes — but  signs 
Of  minds  all  radiant,  and  of  hearts  washed  clean  ; 

The  glory — such  as  shines 
Wherever  faith  or  hope  or  love  is  seen. 

And  thee,  O  doubting  child  !  the  Lord  of  grace 

Whom  thou  didst  fear  to  see — 
He  knows  thy  sin — but  look  upon  his  face  ! 

Doth  it  not  shine  on  thee 
With  a  great  light  of  love  that  fills  the  place  ?. 


Songs  in  £tax.  133 

Oh,  happy  soul,  be  thankful  now  and  rest  ! 

Heaven  is  a  goodly  land  ; 
And  God  is  love  ;  and  those  He  loves  are  blest. 

Now  thou  dost  understand 
The  least  thou  hast  is  better  than  the  best 

That  thou  did'st  hope  for  :   now  upon  thine  eyes 

The  new  life  opens  fair; 
Before  thy  feet  the  blessed  journey  lies 

Through  homelands  everywhere  ; 
And  heaven  to  thee  is  all  a  sweet  surprise. 

Washington  Gladden. 


LEAVE  God  to  order  all  thy  ways, 
And  hope  in  Him  what'er  betide; 
Thou'lt  find  Him  in  the  evil  days 

An  all-sufficient  strength  and  guide  ; 
Who  trusts  in  God's  unchanging  love, 
Builds  on  a  rock  that  naught  can  move. 

George  Newman. 


BE  not  amazed  at  life.     'Tis  still 
The  mode  of  God  with  his  elect, 
Their  hopes  exactly  to  fulfill, 

In  times  and  ways  they  least  expect. 

Dean  Alf»rd. 


i34  Songs  in  £tax. 


1   TREMBLE  at  the  thought  of  heaven/* 
She  said.     He  wondered  why. 
"  At  heaven  !  whose  glories  make  us  glad, 

And  more  than  glad  to  die  ?  " — 
He  asked  her,  puzzled,  half  displeased. 

Her  dreamy  eyes,  along 
The  distant  hills  looked  forth  :  "  I  know," 

She  said,  "  the  raptured  song 
That  holy  souls  have  tried  to  make        * 

Of  heaven  ;  how  they  say, 
1  Thou  hast  no  shore,  fair  ocean, 

Thou  hast  no  time,  bright  day  ; 
With  jasper  glow  thy  bulwarks, 

Thy  streets  with  emeralds  blaze, 
The  sardius  and  the  topaz 

Unite  in  thee  their  rays,' — 

I  know ■ 

"  But  I,  who  am  no  saint  inspired, 

But  I,  who  never  had 
More  than  a  common  life  to  live, 

Nor  much  to  make  me  glad, 
Nor  grand  experiences  that  dig 

Deep  channels  in  the  soul, 
How  shall  I  bear  this  heaven's  vast 

Ecstatic,  perfect  whole  ? 
Perfection  !     I  cannot  conceive 

Perfection,  and  I  fear — 
You  see,  I  could  not  take  it  in, 

Because,  I'm  so  used  here 


Songs  in  Scar.  135 

To  tempered  pleasures  and  small  flaws 

In  all  my  dearest  things, 
That  to  its  full  capacity- 
Joy  in  me  never  swings. 
What  if  the  splendid,  perfect  heaven 

Found  me  thus  lacking  ;  such 
I  could  not  comprehend  it  all, 

And  could  not  bear  so  much  ! 
Like  this,  maybe  : — a  man  born  deaf 

Hears  suddenly  ;  and  lo  ! 
The  first  breath  in  the  world  of  sound 

His  opened  ears  shall  know, 
Comes  thrilling  from  an  orchestra 

Perfect  !  Oh,  yes  !— and  yet, 
The  man  might  swoon  beneath  the  shock 

His  startled  nerves  have  met. 
I  am  afraid  !  " 

"  I  thank  you,  for  that  word,"  he  said  ; 

"There  is  another  sense  ; 
We  miss  it  (so  I  think),  always, 

Until  we  do  go  hence. 
We  know  there  is  another  power, 

Though  not  whether  its  tense 
Is  that  we  might  have,  or  shall  have, 

This  unknown  sense,  from  whence 
We  hope  as  great  things,  surely, 

As  the  kitten  ten  days  old, 
When  her  blind  eyes,  finding  their  use, 

To  light  delayed,  unfold. 


136  Songs  in  if  ear. 

And  so  perhaps,  this  dormant  sense. 

Not  needed  until  then, 
May  be  the  very  thing  vouchsafed 

To  bear  the  glory,  when 
The  righteous  in  the  kingdom  shine, 

And  He,  in  garments  white 
Sits  on  the  throne,  whom  none  can  see 

And  live,  to  bear  the  sight. 
Eye  hath  not  seen,  ear  hath  not  heard, 

Those  things  he  doth  prepare. 
Perhaps,  because,  until  that  sense, 

The  look  they  could  not  bear. 
Eye  hath  not  seen,  ear  hath  not  heard — 

Oh,  no  !  not  yet,  not  yet, — 
But  rest  ;  but  wait ;  anticipate  ; 

And,  waiting,  do  not  let 
Thy  heart  be  troubled  !     The  man,  deaf, 

Not  at  the  sound  would  start 
And  marvel,  but  the  new  found  sense  ; 

The  faculty,  his  heart 
Would  fill  with  joy  unspeakable. 

And  on  its  own  strong  wings 
He  would  be  borne  above  himself, 

Above  all  lesser  things. 
The  hospitality  of  heaven 

Will  not  make  earth's  mistakes. 
When  a  tired,  timid  woman,  strange, 

Upon  that  threshold  wakes, 
It  will  not  be  with  blare  of  full 

Processionals  they  meet 


Songs  in  £tax.  137 

And  honor  her.     With  tender  touch, 

Tones  very  low  and  sweet, 
Ways  home-like  she  can  understand, 

As  if  before,  there,  she  had  been. 
I  think  they  will  come  softly  forth 

And  silent  lead  her  in, — 
And  lead  her  in,  to  see  the  face 

That  anywhere  would  be 
The  one  thing  making-  heaven  home, 

Heaven  to  you,  to  me." 

Ella  M.  Baker. 


J   HAVE  a  sin  of  fear,  that  when  I've  spun 
My  last  thread,  I  shall  perish  on  the  shore  : 
But  swear  by  Thyself,  that  at  my  death  Thy  sun 

Shall  shine  as  heretofore, 
And  having  done  that,         .... 
I  fear  no  more. 

Bishop  Domini 


SEE  the  Lord,  thy  keeper,  stand 
Omnipotently  near  ; 
Lo  !  He  holds  thee  by  thy  hand, 
And  banishes  thy  fear  ; 


i38  Songs  in  Star. 


Shadows  with  His  wings  thy  head  ; 

Guards  from  all  impending  harms  ; 
Round  thee  and  beneath  are  spread 

The  everlasting  arms. 

Charles  Wesley. 


WHY  that  look  of  dark  dismay  ? 
Know  ye  not  that  God  is  near — 
That  thy  God  doth  guard  thy  way  ? 
Hast  forgot.  His  kind  assurance — 
He  will  strengthen,  He  will  guide  ? 
Art  thou  lacking  in  endurance  ? 
Art  thou  falling  from  His  side  ? 

He  hath  told  thee 
Thou  art  His,  and  He  is  thine, 

That  His  right  hand  shall  uphold  thee, 
Dost  ask  more  of  God  divine  ? 
Oh,  then  onward  !  do  not  fear, 
Ne'er  forget  that  He  is  near. 

Arthur  C.  Grissom. 


1KNOW  not  what  the  future  hath 
Of  marvel  or  surprise, 
Assured  alone  that  life  and  death 
His  mercy  underlies. 


Songs  in  £zax.  139 

And  if  my  heart  and  flesh  are  weak 

To  bear  an  untried  pain, 
The  bruised  reed  He  will  not  break 

But  strengthen  and  sustain. 

Whittikr. 


WHAT  a  strange  Being  holds  me  in  his  might, 
And  must  forever  have  his  way  with  me  ! 
Oh  !  what  if  fear  should,  after  all,  be  right  ? 
Then  what  a  terror  nearing  God  must  be  ! 
With  such  unfailing  gifts  of  life  and  light, 
Why  should  I  dread  the  Giver's  self  to  see  ? 

I  went  my  daily  ways  thus  questioning, 
My  foremost  care  a  caged  soul  of  song 

That  met  me  always  with  a  frightened  wing, 
As  fearing  I  had  come  to  do  it  wrong. 

Often  I  said  :  "  How  passing  strange  a  thing, 
When  I  have  fed  its  little  life  so  long  !  " 

But  lo  !  a  marvel  even  greater  yet, 

The  timid  creature,  wildly  beating  first, 

Sank,  on  a  sudden,  close  as  it  could  get, 

And  still, — as  though  its  very  heart  had  burst; 

While  on  my  own  such  steadfast  eyes  were  set 
As  dared  me,  in  their  trust,  to  do  my  worst. 


140  Songs  in  £tax. 

Between  the  bars  was  thrust  its  ventured  breast, 
Whose  plumy,  golden  curve  now  hardly  stirred  ; 

Then  was  my  long  pent,  tenderness  expressed 
In  touches  like  the  softest  whispered  word. 

Ah,  life-long  trembler,  needlessly  distressed, 
Me  and  my  love  you  know  at  last,  poor  bird  ! 

A  new  and  grateful  joy  ran  through  my  heart, 
And  wet  my  unsealed  eyes  like  any  woe  ; 

But  with  what  rapture  fell  my  lips  apart  : 

"  I  thank  thee,  Father,  I  have  learned  Thee  so  ! 

As  I,  to  this  frail  thing,  to  me  Thou  art, 

And  through  my  own,  the  heart  of  God  I  know  ! 
Charlotte  Fiske  Bates. 


VIII. 

SONGS   IN  "THE   HOUSE   OF  MY 
PILGRIMAGE." 


"  Make  the  house  where  gods  may  dwell 
Beautiful,  entire  and  clean/' 


"  Whatsoever  road  I  take,  joins  the  highway 
That  leads  to  Thee  !  " 


1  Rest  is  not  quitting  this  busy  career, 
Rest  is  the  fitting  of  self  to  one's  sphere." 


SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  MY  PIL- 
GRIMAGE. 

M  There's  a  song  in  the  air,  there's  a  star  in  the  sky.',, 


OPEN  the  western  gate, 
And  let  the  daylight  go, 
In  pomp  of  royal  state 

In  rose  and  amber  glow. 
It  is  so  late,  so  late, 

The  birds  sing  sweet  and  low, 
Open  the  western  gate, 
And  let  the  daylight  go. 

Lay  down  thy  daily  toil, 

Glad  of  thy  labor  done, 
Glad  of  the  night's  assoil, 

Glad  of  thy  wages  won  ; 
With  hearts  that  fondly  wait, 

With  grateful  hearts  aglow, 
Pray  at  the  western  gate 

And  let  the  daylight  go. 


144  Songs  in  tl)*  $onse  of  mg  flJilgrintage. 

Pray  at  the  eastern  gate 

For  all  the  day  can  ask  ; 
Pray  at  the  western  gate, 

Holding  thy  finished  task. 
It  waxeth  late,  so  late, 

The  night  falls  cold  and  gray  ; 
But  through  life's  western  gate 

Dawns  life's  eternal  day. 

Amelia  E.  Barr. 


AS  the  bird  trims  her  to  the  gale 
I  trim  myself  to  the  storm  of  time, 
I  man  the  rudder,  reef  the  sail, 

Obey  the  voice  at  eve,  obeyed  at  prime, 
Lowly,  faithful,  banish  fear, 

Right  onward,  drive  unharmed, 
The  port  well  worth  the  cruise  is  near, 
And  every  wave  is  charmed. 


Emerson. 


WE  should  live  as  if  expecting 
To  be  angels  by-and-by, 
Every  moment  recollecting 
The  immortal  life  on  high, 


Songs  in  tl)c  £)onsc  of  mn  pilgrimage.  145 

Where  in  purity  and  glory, 

The  angelic  throng's  above, 
Hymn  the  never-ending  story 

Of  the  srreat  Creator's  love. 


We  should  live  for  something  higher 

Than  to  grovel  here  for  gold, 
And  to  holiness  aspire, 

Like  the  sainted  ones  of  old  ; 
We  should  live  in  the  endeavor 

Human  passions  to  control, 
And  to  hold  the  truth  forever 

As  the  anchor  of  the  soul. 


We  should  live  for  one  another, 

For  humanity  and  right, 
True  to  God  and  to  each  other, 

And  the  soul's  divinest  light  ; 
We  should  live  for  those  in  sorrow, 

On  the  waves  of  trouble  cast, 
With  an  ever  firm  endeavor 

To  be  faithful  to  the  last. 


In  the  narrow  path  of  duty, 
In  the  shining  path  of  love, 

In  the  purity  and  beauty 
Of  angelic  life  above; 


146  Songs  in  ttje  ^oixse  of  mg  JJilgritnage. 


Every  moment  recollecting 

The  immortal  life  on  high, 
We  should  live  as  if  expecting 

To  be  angels  by-and-by. 

Josiah  Moody  Fletcher. 


AH  !  for  the  heart  that  goes 
Unbenisoned  to  its  rest  ! 
Ah  !  for  the  bird  that  knows 
No  mate  in  its  lonely  nest ; 
Not  even  the  kindly  fluttering 
By  night  of  a  passing  wing, 
Only  the  wind's  low  muttering, 
And  no  other  friendly  thing. 

Shall  I  sicken  of  faring  apart  ? 

Shall  I  die  of  keeping  alone  ? 
And  of  bruising  my  living  heart 

On  the  cold  unanswering  stone  ? 


There  is  a  little  rift 

Of  blue  above  the  roofs, 
And  away  in  its  peaceful  lift, 

There  are  stars  that  shine  like  proofs 


Songs  in  tl]e  fjouse  of  mn  pilgrimage.  147 

That  I  shall  not  miss  the  folding 

Of  God's  arms  warm  about 
The  lone  life  he  is  holding 

Safe  in  the  dark  of  doubt ! 

Howard  Glyndon. 


ONE  summer  day,  to  a  young  child,  I  said, 
11  Write  to  thy  mother,  boy."    With  earnest  face 
And  laboring  fingers  all  unused  to  trace 
The  mystic  characters,  he  bent  his  head 
(That  should  have  danced  amid  the  flowers  instead) 
Over  the  blurred  page  for  a  half-hour  s  space  : 
Then  with  a  sigh  that  burdened  all  the  place 
Cried,  u  Mamma  knows  !  "  and  out  to  sunshine  sped. 

O  soul  of  mine,  when  tasks  are  hard  and  long, 
And  life  so  crowds  thee  with  its  stress  and  strain 
That  thou,  half  fainting,  art  too  tired  to  pray, — 
Drink  thou  this  wine  of  blessing  and  be  strong  ! 
God  knows  !     What  though  the  lips  be  dumb  with 

pain, 
Or  the  pen  drops  ?     He  knows  what  thou  would'st 

say. 


w 


HY  should  wre  do  ourselves  this  wrong, 
Or  others, — that  we  are  not  always  strong- 


148  Songs  in  \\\t  ^ouse  of  mg  JJilgritnage. 

That  we  are  ever  overborne  with  care, 

That  we  should  ever  weak  or  heartless  be, 

Anxious  or  troubled,  while  with  us  is  prayer, 

And  joy  and  strength  and  courage  are  with  Thee  ? 


Lo  !  amid  the  press, 
The  whirl  and  hum  and  pressure  of  my  day, 
I  hear  Thy  garment's  sweep,  Thy  seamless  dress, 
And  close  beside  my  work  and  weariness, 

Discern  Thy  gracious  form,  not  far  away, 
But  very  near,  O  Lord  !  to  help  and  bless. 

The  busy  fingers  fly,  the  eyes  may  see 

Only  the  glancing  needle  which  they  hold, 

But  all  my  life  is  blossoming  inwardly, 

And  every  breath  is  like  a  litany  ; 

While  through  each  labor,  like  a  thread  of  gold, 

Is  woven  the  sweet  consciousness  of  Thee  ! 

Susan  Coolidge. 


SERENE,  I  fold  my  hands  and  wait, 
Nor  care  for  wind,  nor  tide,  nor  sea  ; 
I  rave  no  more  'gainst  time  or  fate, 
For  lo  !  mine  own  shall  come  to  me. 


Songs  in  tl)c  igonsc  of  mn  JJilgrimagc.  149 

What  matter  it  I  stand  alone  ? 

I  wait  with  joy  the  coming  years  : 
My  heart  shall  reap  where  it  has  sown, 

And  garner  up  its  fruit  of  tears. 

John  Burroughs. 


AMONG  so  many  can  He  care  ? 
Can  special  love  be  everywhere  ? 
A  myriad  homes — a  myriad  ways, — 
And  God's  eye  over  every  place  ? 

Over ;  but  in  ?     The  world  is  full, 
A  grand  Omnipotence  must  rule  ; 
But  is  there  life  that  doth  abide 
With  mine  own,  living  side  by  side  ? 

So  many  and  so  wide  abroad  : 
Can  any  heart  have  all  of  God  ? 
From  the  great  spaces,  vague  and  dim, 
May  one  small  household  gather  him  ?  — 

I  asked  ;  my  soul  bethought  of  this  : — 
'  In  just  that  very  place  of  His 
Where  He  hath  put  and  keepeth  you, 
God  hath  no  other  thing  to  do" 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney. 


xso  gongs  in  tlje  Ijonse  of  ntg  JJilgrintage. 

LORD  !  if  I  dip  my  cup  into  the  sea, 
-/  It  rises  full  !     Such  cup  each  soul  may  he, 
Such  ocean  is  Thy  good  ! 


SOMETIMES  I  am  tempted  to  murmur 
That  life  is  flitting  away, 
With  only  a  round  of  trifles 

Filling  each  busy  day  ; 
Dusting  nooks  and  corners, 

Making  the  house  look  fair, 
And  patiently  taking  on  me 
The  burden  of  woman's  care. 


Comforting  childish  sorrows, 

And  charming  the  childish  heart 
With  the  simple  song  and  story, 

Told  with  a  mother's  art ; 
Setting  the  dear  home  table, 

And  clearing  the  meal  away, 
And  going  on  little  errands 

In  the  twilight  of  the  day. 

One  day  is  just  like  another  ! 

Sewing  and  piecing  well 
Little  jackets  and  trousers, 

So  neatly  that  none  can  tell 


Songs  in  tlje  fjottse  of  tug  pilgrimage.  151 

Where  are  the  seams  and  joinings. 

Ah  !  the  seamy  side  of  life 
Is  kept  out  of  sight  by  the  magic 

Of  many  a  mother  and  wife  ! 

And  oft  when  ready  to  murmur 

That  life  is  flitting  away, 
With  the  self-same  round  of  duties 

Filling  each  busy  day, 
It  comes  to  my  spirit  sweetly 

With  the  grace  of  a  thought  divine  : 
"  You  are  living,  toiling,  for  love's  sake, 

And  the  loving  should  never  repine. 

11  You  are  guiding  the  little  footsteps 

In  the  way  they  ought  to  walk  ; 
You  are  dropping  a  word  for  Jesus 

In  the  midst  of  your  household  talk  ; 
Living  your  life  for  love's  sake 

Till  the  homely  cares  grow  sweet, 
And  sacred  the  self-denial 

That  is  laid  at  the  Master's  feet." 

Margaret  E.  Sangster. 


WHAT  matter  how  the  winds  may  blow, 
Or  blow  they  east,  or  blow  they  west  ? 
What  reck  I  how  the  tides  may  How. 
Since  ebb  or  flood  alike  is  best  ? 


iS2  Songs  in  tl)c  ^ouse  of  mt}  plgrimagc. 

No  summer  calm,  no  winter  gale, 
Impedes  or  drives  me  from  my  way ; 

I  steadfast  toward  the  haven  sail 
That  lies,  perhaps,  not  far  away. 


What  matter  how  the  winds  may  blow  ? 

Since  fair  or  foul  alike  is  best ; 
God  holds  them  in  His  hand,  I  know, 

And  I  may  leave  to  Him  the  rest, 
Assured  that  neither  calm  nor  gale 

Can  bring  me  danger  or  delay, 
As  still  I  toward  the  haven  sail 

That  lies,  I  know,  not  far  away. 

A.  D.  F.  Rando:  ph. 


1WAS  sitting  alone  in  the  twilight, 
With  spirit  troubled  and  vexed,   - 
With  thoughts  that  were  morbid  and  gloomy, 
And  faith  that  was  sadly  perplexed. 


Some  homely  work  I  was  doing 
For  the  child  of  my  love  and  care, 

Some  stitches  half-wearily  setting 
In  the  endless  need  of  repair. 


Songs  in  tl)c  fjottsc  of  mn  pilgrimage.  153 

But  my  thoughts  were  about  the  M  building," 

The  work  some  day  to  be  tried, 
And  that  only  the  gold  and  silver 

And  the  precious  stone  would  abide  : 

And  remembering  my  own  poor  efforts, 

The  wretched  work  I  had  done, 
And,  even  when  trying  most  truly, 

The  meager  success  I  had  won  : 

11  It  is  nothing  but  wood,  hay  and  stubble," 
I  said  :  "  It  will  all  be  burned — 
These  useless  fruits  of  the  talents 
One  day  to  be  returned  : 

'  And  I  have  so  longed  to  serve  Him, 
And  sometimes  I  know  I  have  tried  ; 
But  I'm  sure  when  He  sees  such  building 
He  will  never  let  it  abide." 

Just  then  as  I  turned  the  garment, 
That  no  rents  should  be  left  behind, 

My  eyes  caught  an  odd  little  bungle 
Of  mending  and  patchwork  combined. 

My  heart  grew  suddenly  tender, 

And  something  blinded  my  eyes, 
With  one  of  those  sweet  intuitions 

That  sometimes  make  us  so  wise. 


r54  Songs  in  i\\t  §omc  of  mg  JMlgrhnuge. 

Dear  child,  she  wanted  to  help  me  ; 

I  knew  'twas  the  best  she  could  do  ; 
But  oh,  what  a  blotch  she  has  made  it — 

The  gray  mis-matching  the  blue  ! 

And  yet — you  can  understand  it  ? — 
With  a  tender  smile  and  a  tear, 

And  a  half-compassionate  yearning 
I  felt  she  had  grown  more  dear. 

Then  a  sweet  voice  broke  the  silence, 
And  the  dear  Lord  said  to  me, 
"  Art  thou  tenderer  for  the  little  child 
Than  I  am  tender  for  thee  ?  " 

Then  straightway  I  knew  His  meaning, 
So  full  of  compassion  and  love, 

And  my  faith  came  back  to  its  refuge 
Like  the  glad  returning  dove. 

For  I  thought,  when  the  Master-builder 
Came  down  His  temple  to  view, 

To  see  what  rents  must  be  mended, 
And  what  must  be  builded  anew. 

Perhaps,  as  He  looks  over  the  building, 
He  will  bring  my  work  to  the  light, 

And  seeing  the  marring  and  bungling, 
And  how  far  it  all  is  from  right, 


Songs  in  the  $onse  of  mg  Pilgrimage.  155 

He  will  feel  as  I  felt  for  my  darling-, 
And  will  say  as  I  said  for  her, 
"  Dear  child,  she  wanted  to  help  me, 
And  love  for  me  was  the  spur. 


And  for  the  true  love  that's  in  it, 

The  work  shall  seem  perfect  as  mine, 

And  because  it  is  willing  service 

I  will  crown  it  with  plaudits  divine." 


So  there  in  the  deepening  twilight 
I  seemed  to  be  clasping  a  hand, 

And  to  feel  a  great  love  constraining  me 
Stronger  than  any  command. 


And  I  knew  by  the  thrill  of  sweetness 
Twas  the  hand  of  the  Blessed  One, 

Which  would  tenderly  guide  and  hold  me 
Till  all  the  labor  is  done. 


So  my  thoughts  are  never  more  gloomy, 

My  faith  no  longer  is  dim  ; 
But  my  heart  is  sunny  and  restful, 

And  my  eyes  turned  ever  to  Him. 

Mrs.  Herrick  Johnson. 


156  Songs  in  \\\t  $ouse  of  mg  plgrimctge. 

HEIMGANG  !     So  the  German  people 
Whisper,  when  they  hear  the  bell 
Tolling  from  some  gray  old  steeple 

Death's  familiar  tale  to  tell  ; 
When  they  hear  the  organ  dirges 
Swelling  out  from  chapel  dome, 
And  the  singers'  chanting  surges, 
u  Heimgang  !  "  always  going  home. 

Heimgang  !     Quaint  and  tender  saying, 

In  the  grand  old  German  tongue, 
That  hath  shaped  Melancthon's  praying, 

And  the  hymns  that  Luther  sung  : 
Blessed  is  our  loving  Maker, 

That  where'er  our  feet  shall  roam, 
Still  we  journey  towards  "  God's  Acre  " — 

Heimgang  !  always  going  home. 


ONE  day  at  a  time  !     Every  heart  that  aches 
Knows  only  too  well  how  long  that  can  seem  ; 
But  it's  never  to-day  that  the  spirit  breaks, 
It 's  the  darkened  future  without  a  gleam. 

One  day  at  a  time  !     'Tis  the  whole  of  life  ! 

All  sorrow,  all  joy  are  measured  therein, 
The  bound  of  our  purpose,  our  noblest  strife 

The  one  only  countersign,  sure  to  win.        * 

Helen  Jackson  (H.  H.). 


Songs  in  the  $onse  of  ntn  pilgrimage.  157 


WE  shall  not  die  until  our  work  be  clone  ; 
We  shall  not  cease  until  our  course  be  run  : 
We  shall  not  fade  or  fail 
While  heart  and  faith  prevail, 
Or  aught  is  to  be  won 
Beneath  the  constant  sun. 


THE  hands  are  such  dear  hands  ! 
They  are  so  full  ;  they  turn  at  our  demands 
So  often  ;  they  reach  out 
With  trifles  scarcely  thought  about 
So  many  times  ;  they  do 
So  many  things  for  me.  for  you — 
If  their  fond  wills  mistake, 
We  may  well  bend,  not  break. 

They  are  such  fond,  frail  lips 

That  speak  to  us  !     Pray  if  love  strips 

Them  of  discretion  many  times, 

Or  if  they  speak  too  slow,  or  quick,  such  crimes 

We  may  pass  by,  for  we  may  see 

Days  not  far  off  when  those  small  words  may  be 

Held  not  as  slow  or  quick  or  out  of  place,  but  dear, 

Because  the  lips  are  no  more  here. 

They  are  such  dear  familiar  feet  that  go 
Along  the  path  with  ours—  feet  fast  or  slow, 
And  trying  to  keep  pace.     If  they  mistake 
Or  tread  upon  some  flower  that  we  would  take 


158  0ottgj3  in  thje  fyoxiBt  of  ma  flKlgrintage. 

Upon  our  breast,  or  bruise  some  reed, 

Or  crush  poor  Hope  until  it  bleed, 

We  may  be  mute, 

Nor  turning  quickly  to  impute 

Grave  fault  ;  for  they  and  we 

Have  such  a  little  way  to  go — can  be 

Together  such  a  little  while  along  the  way, 

We  will  be  patient  while  we  may. 

So  many  little  faults  we  find  ! 

We  see  them,  for  not  blind 

To  love.     We  see  them,  but  if  you  and  I 

Perhaps  remember  them  some  by-and-by 

They  will  not  be 

Faults  then — grave  faults — to  you  and  me, 

But  just  odd  ways,  mistakes,  or  even  less, 

Remembrances  to  bless. 

Days  change  so  many  things — yes,  hours  ; 

We  see  so  differently  in  sun  and  showers. 

Mistaken  words  to-night 

May  be  so  cherished  by  to-morrow's  light. 

We  may  be  patient,  for  we  know 

There's  such  a  little  way  to  go. 

N.  Y. Independent. 


"  I'll  drop  my  burden  at  His  feet 
And  bear  a  song  away  !  " 

OVER  the  narrow  foot-path 
That  led  from  my  lowly  door, 
I  went  with  a  thought  of  the  Master, 
As  oft  I  had  walked  before. 


Songs  in  tfje  ^onse  of  mr)  JJilgritnagc.  159 

My  heart  was  heavily  laden, 

And  with  tears  my  eyes  were  dim  ; 

But  I  knew  I  should  lose  the  burden 
Could  I  get  a  glimpse  of  Him. 

It  was  more  than  I  could  carry, 

If  I  carried  it  all  alone  ; 
And  none  in  my  house  might  share  it — 

Only  One  on  the  throne. 
It  came  between  me  and  pleasure, 

Between  my  work  and  me  ; 
But  our  Lord  could  understand  it, 

And  His  touch  could  set  me  free. 

Over  the  trodden  pathway, 

To  the  fields  all  shorn  and  bare, 
I  went  with  a  step  that  faltered, 

And  a  face  that  told  of  care. 
I  had  lost  the  light  of  the  morning, 

With  its  shimmer  of  sun  and  dew  ; 
But  a  gracious  look  of  the  Master 

Would  the  strength  of  morn  renew. 

While  yet  my  courage  wavered, 

And  the  sky  before  me  blurred, 
I  heard  a  voice  behind  me 

Saying  a  tender  word. 
And  I  turned  to  see  the  brightness 

Of  Heaven  upon  the  road, 


160  Songs  in  t\)t  ^onse  of  tmj  plgrimage. 

And  sudden  I  lost  the  pressure 
Of  the  weary,  crushing  load. 

Nothing  that  hour  was  altered, 

I  had  still  the  weight  of  care  ; 
But  I  bore  it  now  with  the  gladness 

Which  comes  of  answered  prayer. 
Not  a  grief  the  soul  can  fetter 

Nor  cloud  its  vision,  when 
The  dear  Lord  gives  the  spirit 

To  breathe  to  his  will,  amen. 

O  friends  !  if  the  greater  burdens 

His  love  can  make  so  light, 
Why  should  His  wonderful  goodness 

Our  halting  credence  slight  ? 
The  little  sharp  vexations, 

And  the  briars  that  catch  and  fret, 
Shall  we  not  take  them  to  the  Helper 

Who  has  never  failed  us  yet  ? 

Tell  Him  about  the  heartache, 

And  tell  Him  the  longings,  too  ; 
Tell  Him  the  baffled  purpose, 

When  we  scarce  know  what  to  do. 
Then,  leaving  all  our  weakness 

With  the  One  divinely  strong, 
Forget  that  we  bore  the  burden, 

And  carry  away  the  song. 

Margaret  E.  Sangster. 


Songs  in  tfje  iijonss  of  mg  pilgrimage.  161 

WHAT,  tears  in  your  eyes,  my  beloved  ! 
Memories  of  trouble  and  loss  ! 
Can  you  not  thank  Him  for  the  anguish  ? 

Can  you  not  bless  Him  for  the  cross  ? 
He  knows  and  loves.     Unnoted  of  Him 

Not  one  of  these  tears  shall  falf. 
Look  up  through  their  shining,  dear  heart  and  say, 
I  bless  thee,  O  Master,  for  all  ! 

Mabel. 


THE  cup  of  my  years  was  filling — 
It  had  almost  reached  the  brim — 
As  I  sat  by  my  lonely  fireside 

Singing  a  Sabbath  hymn. 
I  was  sick  and  alone  and  weary, 
And  I  sought  in  vain  for  rest, 
And  I  longed  for  the  tender  sympathy 
With  which  I  once  was  blest. 

I  sat  alone  by  my  fireside, 

And  for  very  weakness  wept, 
And  my  tears  kept  mingling  with  my  song 

Until,  at  last,  I  slept. 
I  slept,  and  I  thought  in  my  sleeping 

I  was  mounting  a  giddy  height, 
A  heavy  burden  was  in  my  arms, 

And  it  was  almost  night. 


162  Songs  in  \\\t  fouse  of  m\s  pilgrimage. 

I  was  weary  and  weak  and  trembling, 

And  hardly  a  step  could  take, 
Hardly  a  whisper  could  I  speak 

Or  upward  progress  make. 
"Oh,  for  a  friend,"  I  faltered  ; 

And  even  as^I  cried, 
A  step  was  coming  down  the  height, 

A  form  was  by  my  side. 

A  face  was  gazing  into  mine, 

With  tender,  pitying  eyes  ; 
An  arm  was  underneath  my  own, 

And  helping  me  to  rise. 
Up,  through  the  rocky  pathway, 

Up,  towards  the  distant  blue, 
We  went  ;  I  gazed  into  the  face, 

And  it  seemed  like  one  I  knew. 

And  oh,  the  tender  sympathy, 

That  cannot  be  expressed, 
Through  all  my  being  seemed  to  flow 

And  filled  it  full  of  rest. 
My  burden  seemed  as  nothing, 

And,  though  no  word  he  spoke, 
I  knew  that  Jesus  Christ  was  there  ; 

"  Dear  Lord  !  "  I  said,  and  woke. 

The  cup  of  my  years  is  brimming, 

And  I  gladly  see  it  fill, 
And  I  sit  by  myself,  but  not  alone, 

For  Christ  is  with  me  still. 


Songs  in  the  $onse  of  tnn  Pilgrimage.  163 

Weak,  and  yet  full  of  resting, 

I  have  no  vain  alarms, 
For  underneath  me  now  I  feel 

The  everlasting-  arms. 

J.  H.  M. 


When  sorrow's  darkest  night 
Above,  around,  like  a  thick  cloud  doth  fall, 

Though  thou  canst  see  no  light, 
Yet  God  still  lives,  and  watches  over  all. 

Then  trust  His  loving  care  ; 
Pray  always,  though  thy  feeble  sight  be  dim  ; 

Thy  burdens  He  will  bear, 
If  thou  canst  only  leave  all  things  with  Him. 

Julia  D.  Peck. 


THE  night  is  come  ;  like  to  the  day, 
Depart  not  Thou,  great  God,  away. 
Let  not  my  sins,  black  as  the  night, 
Eclipse  the  luster  of  Thy  light. 
Keep  in  my  horizon  :  for  to  me 
The  sun  makes  not  the  day,  but  Thee. 
Thou,  whose  nature  cannot  sleep, 
On  my  temples  sentry  keep  : 


164  Songs  in  ttye  ^onse  of  mg  pilgrimage. 

Guard  me  against  those  watchful  foes 
Whose  eyes  are  open  while  mine  close. 
Let  no  dreams  my  head  infest, 
But  such  as  Jacob's  temple  blest. 
While  I  do  rest,  my  soul  advance  ; 
Make  my  sleep  a  holy  trance  : 
That  I  may,  my  rest  being  wrought, 
Awake  into  some  holy  thought, 
And  with  as  active  vigor  run 
My  course  as  doth  the  nimble  sun. 
Sleep  is  a  death  :  Oh,  make  me  try 
By  sleeping,  what  it  is  to  die  ; 
And  as  gently  lay  my  head 
On  my  grave  as  on  my  bed. 

Sir  Thomas  Browne,  1605. 


I  SAID,  one  day,  "O  life  !  you're  little  worth. 
Made  up  of  toil  and  care  and  blighted  hope, 
With  pain  and  sin  and  all  their  ills  to  cope, 
The  day  of  death  is  better  than  of  birth." 
Ev'en  as  I  spoke,  Love  put  a  hand  in  mine, 

And  its  dear  presence  drove  all  gloom  away, 
As  shadows  flee  before  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  life  became  a  heritage  divine  ! 

Laura  Garland  Carr. 


Songs  in  tfje  $onse  of  mp  pilgrimage.  165 

WE  shall  be  like  Him  " — strange  the  story  ! 
Will  wonders  never  cease  ? 
We  shall  be  like  the  King  of  Glory  I 
Like  Him,  the  Prince  of  Peace  ! 

It  must  be  true  !  for  carefully 

I've  read  this  passage  o'er ; 
It  plainly  says  that  we  shall  be 

Like  Him  whom  I  adore. 

O,  tell  me,  does  it  really  mean 

'Tis  possible  on  earth 
To  be  all  glorious  within, 

Like  Him  of  lowly  birth  ? 

Or  does  it  mean  that  we  must  wait 

To  lay  this  earth-robe  by  ? 
I  grow  impatient  with  the  thought 

And  long  to  mount  the  sky. 

I'll  read  it  o'er  again.     It  says 

That  when  He  doth  appear 
We  shall  be  like  Him  ;  it  must  mean 

We  shall  be  like  Him  here  ! 

For,  oh,  last  night,  while  bowing  low 

Before  my  Father's  throne, 
I  saw  His  face,  and  oh  !  I  felt 

His  strong  hand  clasp  my  own. 


166  Songs  in  tl)e  Ijonse  of  mg  JJilgritnage, 

You  smile,  and  tell  me  'tis  by  faith 

And  not  by  sight  I  see  : 
If  such  the  fact,  makes  it  the  sight 

A  whit  less  real  to  me  ? 

Wouldst  have  me  think  that  faith  is  but 

Some  ignis  fatuus  light 
No,  no,  'tis  all  the  same  to  me 

Whether  'tis  faith  or  sight. 

And  this  I  know,  for  'twas  His  voice 
Which  spoke  thus  in  my  ear  : 
"  If  we  would  dwell  with  Him  above 
We  must  be  like  him  here  !  " 

Harriet  Chase. 


WE  need  not  die  to  go  to  God  ! 
See,  how  the  daily  prayer  is  given, — 
Tis  not  across  a  gulf  we  cry 

"  Our  Father  who  dost  dwrell  in  heaven  ! ' 


And,  "  Let  Thy  will  on  earth  be  done, 
As  in  Thy  heaven,"  by  this  thy  child  ! 

What  is  it  but  all  prayers  in  one, 
That  soul  and  sense  be  reconciled  ? 


Songs  in  t\)c  fjonse  of  mn  Pilgrimage.  167 

AS  the  poor  panting  hart  to  the  water-brook  runs 
As  the  water-brook  runs  to  the  sea, 
So  earth's  tainting  daughters  and  famishing  sons 
O  Fountain  of  love,  run  to  Thee  ! 

Alice  Cary. 


ACROSS  the  hedges,  thick  with  autumn  flowers, 
I  watch  the  wild,  rough  wind's  breath  come  and 

Bending  the  leaves  until  their  pale  backs  show  ; 

And  each  small  bird  that  there  for  safety  cowers, 

To  hide  before  the  storm  that  darkly  lowers 

Is  shown  to  us,  who  did  not  even  know 

They  shivered  there — for  they  were  hidden  so — 

Until  the  wind  put  forth  its  strongest  powers. 

Is  not  this  like  some  life  of  sweetest  rest — 

Passing  its  years  in  a  most  even  course 

Through  sun  and  summer's  perfect,  peaceful  smile  ? 

Yet,  when  rough  trials  search  that  quiet  breast, 

It  shows  beneath  the  calm,  that  love's  vast  force 

Has  lain  there,  hiding  humbly,  all  the  while. 


FORGIVE  !   that  oft  my  spirit  wears 
Her  time  and  strength  in  trivial  cares; 
Enfold  her  in  Thy  changeless  peace, 
So  she  from  all  but  Thee  may  cease  ! 

Angelus  Silesius,  1657. 


1 68  gongs  in  il)e  $ons*  of  mg  JJUgrimage. 

THE  coiled  elastic  spring  of  steel 
Imprisoned  in  its  brazen  bars, 
Moving-  each  ruby-balanced  wheel, 
Measures  its  motion  with  the  stars. 

The  heart's  low  pulse,  the  firmer  beat, 
The  throbbing  of  the  burdened  brain, 

The  music  of  a  million  feet 

On  hill-top  and  on  grassy  plain ; 

The  sea's  majestic  ebb  and  flow, 

The  ripple  on  the  tender  rill, 
The  gentle  falling  of  the  snow, 

The  bird-note  and  the  viol's  trill; 

With  these,  and  in  the  march  of  thought 
Mid  passions  ripened  into  wars, 

Mid  the  many  things  which  time  has  wrought, 
Our  life  is  stepping  with  the  stars. 

It  is  not  peace  that  reigns  alone 
In  those  stupendous  orbs  of  fire, 

But  rent  and  scarred  from  zone  to  zone, 
They  melt  and  crumble  and  expire. 

Yet  discord  is  but  harmony 

Which  mortals  do  not  understand, 

The  tear,  the  laughter  and  the  sigh, 
Touch  in  one  note  the  immortal  strand. 


Songs  in  the  $onse  of  mn  JJilgrimage.  169 


We  rotate  in  our  little  cell, 

And  touch  each  other  through  the  bars. 
But  God  has  ordered  all  things  well 

Who  keeps  us  stepping  with  the  stars. 

E.  E.  Adams. 


ACROSS  the  field  of  daily  work 
Run  the  footpaths  leading — where  ? 
Run  they  east  or  run  they  west, 

One  way  all  the  workers  fare  : 
Every  awful  thing  of  earth, 

Sin  and  pain  and  battle-noise, 
Every  dear  thing — baby's  birth, 
Faces,  flowers,  or  lovers'  joys — 
Is  a  wicket  gate  where  we 
Join  the  great  highway  to  Thee  ! 

Restless,  restless,  speed  we  on  ; 

Whither  in  the  vast  unknown  ? 
Not  to  you  and  not  to  me 

Are  the  sealed  orders  shown  ; 
But  the  Hand  that  built  the  road, 

And  the  Light  that  leads  the  feet, 
And  this  inward  restlessness, 
Are  such  invitation  sweet, 
That  where  I  no  longer  see 
Highway  still  must  lead  to  Thee. 

William  C.  Gannett. 


170  Songs  in  i\\t  $ouse  of  mg  JJilgritttage. 

LORD,  according  to  Thy  words, 
-/  I  have  considered  Thy  birds  ; 
And  find  their  life  good, 
And  better,  the  better  understood ; 
Sowing  neither  corn  nor  wheat, 
They  have  all  that  they  can  eat ; 
Reaping  no  more  than  they  sow, 
They  have  all  that  they  can  stow  ; 
Having  neither  barn  nor  store, 
Hungry  again  they  eat  more. 

Considering,  I  see  too  that  they 
Have  a  busy  life  and  plenty  of  play  ; 
In  the  earth  they  dig  their  bills  deep, 
And  work  well,  though  they  do  not  reap ; 
Then  to  play  in  the  air  they  are  not  loath, 
And  their  nests  between  are  better  than  both. 
But  this  is  when  there  blow  no  storms, 
When  berries  are  plenty  in  winter  and  worms ; 
When  their  feathers  are  thick  and  oil  is  enough 
To  keep  the  cold  out, — and  the  rain  off. 
If  there  should  come  a  long,  hard  frost, 
Then  it  looks  as  Thy  birds  were  lost. 

But  I  considered  further,  and  find 

A  hungry  bird  has  a  free  mind  ; 

He  is  hungry  to-day,  not  to-morrow  ; 

Steals  no  comfort,  no  grief  doth  borrow  ; 

This  moment  is  his,  Thy  will  hath  said  it, 

The  nest  is  nothing  till  Thou  hast  made  it. 


Songs  in  tfye  $onse  of  mn  Pilgrimage.  17 J 

The  bird  has  pain,  but  has  no  fear, 

Which  is  the  worst  of  any  gear  ; 

When  cold  and  hunger  and  harm  betide  him, 

He  gathers  them  not  to  stuff  inside  him  : 

Content  with  the  day's  ill  he  has  got, 

He. just  waits,  nor  haggles  with  his  lot  ; 

Neither  jumbles  God's  will 

With  dribblets  from  his  own  still. 

But  next  I  see  in  my  endeavor, 
The  birds  here  do  not  live  forever  ; 
That  cold  or  hunger,  sickness  or  age, 
Finishes  their  earthly  stage  ; 
The  rook  drops  without  a  stroke, 
And  never  gives  another  croak  ; 
Birds  lie  here,  and  birds  lie  there, 
WTith  little  feathers  all  astare  ; 
And  in  Thy  own  sermon,  Thou 
That  the  sparrow  falls,  dost  allow. 

It  shall  not  cause  me  any  alarm  ; 
For  neither  so  comes  the  bird  to  harm  ; 
Seeing  our  Father, — Thou  hast  said, 
Is  by  the  sparrow's  dying  bed  ! 
Therefore,  it  is  a  blessed  place, 
And  the  sparrow  in  high  grace  ! 
It  cometh,  therefore,  to  this,  Lord  ; 
I  have  considered  Thy  word, 
And  henceforth  will  be  Thy  bird. 

Geo.  Macdonald. 


172  Songs  in  t\)c  4jjonse  of  mg  flKlgrimage. 


SOME  day  or  other  I  shall  surely  come 
Where  true  hearts  wait  for  me  ; 
Then  let  me  learn  the  language  of  that  home 

While  here  on  earth  I  be, 
Lest  my  poor  lips  for  want  of  words  be  dumb    . 
In  that  High  Company. 

Louise  Chandler  Moulton. 


THE  shady  nooks  and  corners, 
So  quiet  and  so  cool, 
Where  springs  the  crystal  streamlet, 

Where  glooms  the  dusky  pool — 
I  leave  the  path  to  seek  them ; 

No  dearer  haunts  I  know 
Than  just  the  lonely  places 
Where  patient  mosses  grow. 

The  shady  nooks  and  corners 

By  forest,  brook  and  burn, 
They  hide  in  deep  recesses 

The  waving  feathery  fern. 
And  through  their  sheltered  silence 

Shy  wings  flit  to  and  fro, 
And  bits  of  song  are  breaking 

Where  humble  flowers  blow. 


Songs  in  t\)C  $onse  of  mp  pilgrimage.  173 

The  shady  nooks  and  corners 

Apart  from  stir  :\nd  strife, 
And  distant  from  the  tumult 

Of  busy  whirling-  life, 
Where  some  of  God's  dear  children 

Alone  are  left  and  low, 
There,  star-like,  strong-  and  steadfast, 

The  lights  of  promise  glow. 


The  shady  nooks  and  corners, 

Wherein  we  dwell  with  God, 
And  conquer  pain  and  weakness, 

Sustained  by  staff  and  rod  ; 
Perhaps  in  all  earth's  journey 

Naught  sweeter  shall  we  know 
Than  just  these  sanctuaries 

WThere  hidden  graces  grow. 


The  shady  nooks  and  corners 

Screened  from  the  glaring  day  : — 
Songs  in  the  night  He  giveth 

To  those  who  watch  and  pray, 
And  blessing  comes  when  leaving 

The  trodden  road  we  go 
To  rest  amid  the  shadows 

Where  living  waters  flow. 

Margaret  E.  Sangstkr. 


174  Songs  in  \\\t  ^onse  of  ms  JJilgrimage. 

OH,  the  temple  of  the  soul  ;  of  what  tiny  stones 
'tis  built  ! 
A  simple  prayer  for  one  whose  life  may  have  been 

stained  with  guilt  : — 
The  drying  of  an  infant's  tear,  a  smile  to  cheer  some 

heart, 
A  word  to  soften  envy's  shaft,  or  turn  away  its  dart. 


All  trifles,  yet  our  pitying  Lord  in  mercy  takes  the 

whole, 
And  fashions  from  them  in   His  love,  a    temple  for 

the  soul  ; 
Cements  the  fragments — asking  naught  beyond  our 

power  to  give — 
Leading  us,  step  by  step,  to  see  how  grand  it  is  to 

live. — 

To  live  to  do  some  noble  work,  howe'er  obscure  it 

be  ! 
To  live  to   pluck  away  the   thorns  that  grow   upon 

life's  tree, 
To  scatter  smiles  and  helpful  words,  although  the 

way  be  rough, 
To  smooth  life's  path  for  tender  feet,  is  this  not  joy 

enough  ? 

Oh,  the  temple  of  the  soul  !  it  is  very  sweet  to  know, 
If  we  fully  trust  our  Father's   care,  whatever  fierce 
winds  blow, 


Songo  in  tl)c  ^ousc  of  tnti  plgritnagc.  175 

Though  life's  billows  may  dash  o'er  us,  and  its  surges 

fiercely  roll, 
They  ne'er  can  touch  the  inner  life,  the  temple  of  the 

soul. 


EVER  and  ever  the  world  goes  round, 
Bearing  its  burdens  and  crosses  ; 
Ever  and  ever  the  years  roll  on, 

With  their  tide  of  sorrows  and  losses. 
Ever  and  ever  the  book  of  life 

Bears  upon  its  pages 
The  weary,  weary  lay  of  the  heart, 
Sung  through  all  the  ages. 

Ever  and  ever  with  outstretched  hands 

We  grasp  for  a  golden  morrow  ; 
Ever  and  ever  the  billows  of  time 

Are  freighted  with  bitter  sorrow  ; 
Ever  and  ever  the  lips  smile  on, 

That  the  world  may  walk  in  blindness  ; 
Little  they  know  of  the  heart's  wild  woe, 

When  the  face  looks  but  with  brightness. 

Ever  and  ever  the  shadows  fall, 

Over  the  golden  mosses  ; 
Ever  a  gleam  from  Paradise, 

Lightens  our  cares  and  crosses. 


176  Songs  in  ll)c  §ouse  of  tug  pilgrimage. 

Ever  and  ever  the  morning  dawns 

On  hopes  that  are  breathed  in  gladness; 
Ever  and  ever  the  night  brings  in 

Its  tide  of  bitter  sadness. 
Ever  and  ever  the  eye  of  God 

Looketh  upon  us  with  pity, 
And  ever  the  light  is  shown  to  us, 

That  gleams  from  the  Golden  City. 


HAVING  won  by  toil  and  pain 
Who  shall  regret  the  pangs  of  life  ? 
Who  would  regret  the  Past's  long  night, 
With  all  its  fear  and  chill  and  blight, 
If  now  the  east,  through  twilight  gray, 
Were  streaked  with  Everlasting  Day  ? 


1WALK  down  the  Valley  of  Silence, 
Down  the  dim,  voiceless  valley  alone  ; 
And  I  hear  not  the  fall  of  a  footstep 

Around  me — save  God's  and  my  own  ; 
And  the  hush  of  my  heart  is  as  holy 
As  hovers  when  angels  have  flown. 


Songs  in  the  $onsc  of  my  pilgrimage.  177 

Long  ago  I  was  weary  of  voices 

Whose  music  my  heart  could  not  win; 

Long-  ago  I  was  weary  of  noises 

That  fretted  my  soul  with  their  din; 

Long  ago  I  was  weary  of  places 

Where  I  met  but  the  human  and  sin. 

I  walked  through  the  world  with  the  worldly; 

I  craved  what  the  world  never  gave  ; 
And  I  said,  "  In  the  world  each  ideal 

That  shines  like  a  star  on  life's  wave, 
Is  tossed  on  the  shores  of  the  Real, 

And  sleeps  like  a  dream  in  the  grave." 

And  still  did  I  pine  for  the  perfect, 

And  still  found  the  false  with  the  true  ; 

I  sought  'mid  the  human  for  heaven, 
But  caught  a  mere  glimpse  of  the  blue, 

And  I  wept  when  the  clouds  of  the  mortal, 
Veiled  even  that  glimpse  from  my  view. 

And  I  toiled  on,  heart-tired  of  human; 

And  I  moaned  'mid  the  masses  of  men, 
Till  I  knelt  long  at  an  altar, 

And  heard  a  voice  call  me — since  then 
I  walked  down  the  Valley  of  Silence 

That  is  far  beyond  mortal  ken. 

Do  you  ask  what  I  found  in  the  Valley  ? 

'Tis  my  trysting  place  with  the  Divine; 
And  I  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  Holy, 

And  above  me  a  voice  said,  "  Be  mine." 


i78  Songs  in  ttje  Ijonse  of  tnti  plgrintage. 

And  there  rose  from  the  depths  of  my  spirit 
The  echo,  "  My  heart  shall  be  thine." 

Do  you  ask  how  I  live  in  the  Valley  ? 

I  weep  and  I  dream  and  I  pray; 
But  my  tears  are  as  sweet  as  the  dew-drops 

That  fall  on  the  roses  in  May  : 
And  my  prayers,  like  a  perfume  from  censers, 

Ascending  to  God  night  and  day. 

In  the  hush  of  the  Valley  of  Silence 
I  dream  all  the  songs  that  I  sing. 

And  the  music  floats  down  the  dim  valley 
Till  each  finds  a  word  for  a  wing, 

That  to  men,  like  the  dove  of  the  deluge, 
The  message  of  peace  they  may  bring. 

But  far  on  the  deep  there  are  billows 
That  never  shall  break  on  the  beach, 

And  I  have  heard  songs  in  the  silence 
That  never  shall  float  into  speech  ; 

And  I  have  dreams  in  the  Valley 
Too  lofty  for  language  to  reach. 

Do  you  ask  me  the  place  in  the  Valley, 
Ye  hearts  that  are  narrowed  by  care  ? 

It  lies  far  away  between  mountains, 
And  God  and  His  angels  are  there  ; 

And  one  is  the  dark  Mount  of  Sorrow, 
And  one  the  bright  Mountain  of  Prayer. 

Father  Ryan. 


Songs  in  ttje  $onse  of  n™  Pilgrimage.  179 

ALL  common  things,  each  day's  events, 
That  with  the  hour  begin  and  end, 
Our  pleasures  and  our  discontents, 
Are  rounds  by  which  we  may  ascend. 

Longfellow. 


THE  way  is  long,  my  darling, 
The  road  is  rough  and  steep, 
And  fast  across  the  evening  sky 

I  see  the  shadows  sweep. 
But  oh,  my  love,  my  darling, 

No  ill  to  us  can  come, 
Xo  terror  turn  us  from  the  path, 
For  we  are  going  home. 

Your  feet  are  tired,  my  darling — 

So  tired,  the  tender  feet  ; 
But  think,  when  we  are  there  at  last, 

How  sweet  the  rest  !  how  sweet  ! 
For  lo  !  the  lamps  are  lighted, 

And  yonder  gleaming  dome, 
Before  us,  shining  like  a  star, 

Shall  guide  our  footsteps  home. 

Art  cold,  my  love,  and  famished  ? 

Art  faint  and  sore  athirst  ? 
Be  patient  yet  a  little  while, 

And  joyous,  as  at  first ; 


180  Songs  in  tt)e  ^ouse  af  mg  plgrimage. 

For  oh  !  the  sun  sets  never 

Within  that  land  of  bloom, 
And  thou  shalt  eat  the  bread  of  life 

And  drink  life's  wine  at  home. 

The  wind  blows  cold,  my  darling, 

Adown  the  mountain  steep, 
And  thick  across  the  evening  sky 

The  darkling  shadows  creep  ; 
But  oh  !  my  love,  press  onward, 

Whatever  trials  come, 
For  in  the  way  the  Father  set, 

We  two  are  going  home. 

Margaret  E.  Sangster. 


.     .     .     Why  forecast  the  trials  of  life, 
With  such  sad  and  grave  persistence, 

And  wait  and  watch  for  a  crowd  of  ills 
That  as  yet  have  no  existence  ? 

Strength  for  to-day — what  a  precious  boon 

For  earnest  souls  who  labor  ! 
For  the  willing  hands  who  minister 

To  the  needy  friend  or  neighbor. 

Strength  for  to-day  that  the  weary  hearts 
In  the  battle  for  right  may  quail  not ; 

And  the  eyes  bedimmed  by  bitter  tears 
In  the  search  for  light  may  fail  not. 


Songs  in  tl]c  fjonse  of  mn  pilgrimage.  181 

Strength  for  to-day  on  the  downhill  track 

For  the  travelers  near  the  valley; 
That  up,  far  up  on  the  other  side 

Ere  long  they  may  safely  rally. 

Strength  for  to-day,  that  our  precious  youth 

May  happily  shun  temptation, 
And  build  from  the  rise  to  the  set  of  the  sun 

On  a  strong  and  sure  foundation. 

Strength  for  to-day,  in  house  and  home 

To  practice  forbearance  sweetly; 
To  scatter  kind  words  and  loving  deeds, 

Still  trusting  in  God  completely. 

Strength  for  to-day  is  all  that  we  need, 
For  there  never  will  be  a  to-morrow; 

For  to-morrow  will  prove  but  another  to-day, 
With  its  measures  of  joy  and  sorrow. 


IF  you  sit  down  at  set  of  sun 
And  count  the  acts  that  you  have  done, 
And  counting  find 
One  self-denying  act — one  word 
That  eased  the  heart  of  him  who  heard, 

One  glance  most  kind, 
That  fell  like  sunshine  where  it  went, 
Then  you  may  count  the  day  well  spent. 


182  Songs  in  l\\t  $ouse  of  tug  pilgrimage. 

"  HTHE  days  are  all  alike,"  she  said  ; 
1     "  The  glory  of  my  life  is  dead  ; 
Hope  and  ambition  far  are  fled  — 
And  I  live  on  in  vain. 

14  Others  have  reached  the  leaves  of  fame, 
Others  have  won  undying  name  ; 
My  shadowed  hours  are  still  the  same — 
What  comfort  doth  remain  ? 

1  To  clothe — to  feed — to  satisfy 
The  household  need  ;  the  children's  cry 
Doth  fill  the  moments  as  they  fly  ; 
My  sheaves  are  poor  and  small. 

11  So  full  the  claims  of  every  day 
I  scarce  can  creep  to  Thee,  and  pray  ; 
Oh,  lead  me  in  some  brighter  way 
To  glorify  Thy  name." 

Then  spoke  the  Master,  "Thankful  be, 
My  child  !  that  God  hath  honored  thee, 
The  richest  crown  of  life  to  see, 

That  prayers  and  hopes  can  claim. 

"  Glory  thou  cravedst — and  instead 
I  gave  thee  children  to  be  fed, 
Those  tender  lives  that  look  for  bread 
Unto  the  mo  her  hand. 


Songs  in  tip  fjcmse  of  imi  pilgrimage.  183 

1  Joy  didst  thou  seek — I  heard  thy  prayer  ; 
I  sent  thee  infant  faces  fair, 
And  rosy  lips  and  sunny  hair — 
A  blessed,  sinless  band." 

1  '  Glory  to  God,'  was  still  my  plea — 
Patience  o(  Christ  they  brought  from  Me — 
These  babes  that  God  shall  ask  of  thee, 
Within  the  resting  land." 


THERE'S  many  a  rest  on  the  road  of  life, 
If  we  only  would  stop  to  take  it, 
And  many  a  tone  from  the  better  land, 
If  the  careworn  heart  wTould  wake  it. 
To  the  sunny  soul  that  is  full  of  hope, 

And  whose  beautiful  trust  ne'er  faileth, 
The  grass  is  green  and  the  flowers  are  bright, 
Though  the  wintry  storm  prevaileth. 

Better  to  hope,  though  the  clouds  hang  low, 

And  to  keep  the  eyes  still  lifted ; 
For  the  sweet  blue  sky  will  soon  peep  through 

When  the  ominous  clouds  are  rifted. 
There  was  never  a  night  without  a  day, 

Nor  an  evening  without  a  morning  ; 
And  the  darkest  hour,  the  proverb  goes, 

Is  the  hour  before  the  dawning. 


184  Songs  in  tl^e  $onse  of  mg  pilgrimage. 

Better  to  weave  in  the  web  of  life 

A  bright  and  golden  filling, 
And  to  do  God's  will  with  a  ready  heart, 

And  hands  that  are  swift  and  willing, 
Than  to  snap  the  delicate  silver  threads 

Of  our  curious  lives  asunder, 
And  then  blame  Heaven  for  the  tangled  ends, 

And  sit  to  grieve  and   wonder. 


THE  faint  low  echo  that  we  hear  of  far-off  music 
seems  to  fill 
The  silent  air  with  love  and  fear,  and  the  world's 

clamors  all  grow  still, 
Until  the  portals  close  again,  and  leave  us  toiling  on 
in  pain. 

Complain  not  that  the  way  is    long, — what  road  is 

weary  that  leads  there  ? 
But  let  the  Angel  take  thy  hand,  and  lead  thee  up 

the  misty  stair, 
Andthen  with  beating  heart  await  the   opening   of 

the  Golden  Gate. 

Adelaide  Anne  Proctor, 


HOW  many  of  us  have  ships  at  sea, 
Freighted  with  wishes,  hopes  and  fears, 
Tossing  about  on  the  waves,  while  wre 
Linger  and  wait  on  the  shore  for  years, 


Songs  in  tf)e  §onse  of  mu  JJilgrimagc.  185 

Gazing  afar  through  the  distance  dim 

And  sighing,  "  Will  ever  our  ships  come  in  ?  " 

We  sent  them  away  with  laughter  and  song, 
The  decks  were  white  and   the  sails  were  new, 

The  fragrant  breezes  bore  them  along, 

The  sea  was  calm  and  the  skies  were  blue, 

And  we  thought  as  we  watched  them  sail  away 

Of  the  joy  they  would  bring  us  some  future  day. 

Long  have  we  watched   beside  the  shore 

To  catch  the  gleam  of  a  coming  sail, 
But  we  only  hear  the  breakers'  roar, 

Or  the  sweeping  night-wind's  dismal  wail, 
Till  our  cheeks  grow  pale,  and  our  eyes  grow  dim, 
And  we  sadly  sigh,  "  Will  they  never  come  in  ?  " 

Oh  !  poor  sad  heart  with  its  burden  of  cares, 

Its  aims  defeated,  its  worthless  life, 
That  has  garnered  only  the  thorns  and  the  tares 

That  is  seared  and  torn  in  the  pitiful  strife. 
Afar  on  the  heavenly  golden  shore 
Thy  ships  are  anchored  forevermore. 

Florence  Grover. 


ONE  of  these  days  it  will  all  be  over, 
Sorrow  and  parting,  and  loss  and  gain, 
Meetings  and  partings  of  friends  and  lover, 
Joy  that  was  ever  so  edged  with  pain. 


1 86  Songs  in  tl)*  $ons£  of  tng  JJilgrhnage. 

One  of  these  days  will  our  hands  be  folded, 
One  of  these  days  will  the  work  be  done, 

Finished  the  pattern  our  lives  have  molded, 
Ended  our  labor  beneath  the  sun. 

One  of  these  days  will  the  heart-ache  leave  us, 

One  of  these  days  will  the  burden  drop  ; 
Never  again  shall  a  hope  deceive  us, 

Never  again  will  our  progress  stop. 
Freed  from  the  blight  of  vain  endeavor, 

Winged  with  the  health  of  immortal  life, 
One  of  these  days  we  shall  quit  forever 

All  that  is  vexing  in  earthly  strife. 

One  of  these  days  we  shall  know  the  reason, 

Haply,  of  much  that  perplexes  now; 
One  of  these  days  in  the  Lord's  good  season 

Light  of  his  peace  shall  adorn  the  brow. 
Blest,  though  out  of  tribulation, 

Lifted  to  dwell  in  his  sun-bright  smile, 
Happy  to  share  in  the  great  salvation, 

Well  may  we  tarry  a  little  while. 


Shall  we  sit  idly  down  and  say 
The  night  hath  come  ;  it  is  no  longer  day  ? 
The  night  hath  not  yet  come  ;  we  are  not  quite 
Cut  off  from  labor  by  the  failing  light  ; 


Songs  in  i\)C  £)onse  of  tnp  Pilgrimage.  187 

Something  remains  for  us  to  do  or  dare  ; 
Even  the  oldest  tree  some  fruit  may  bear  ; 


For  age  is  opportunity  no  less 
Than  youth  itself,  though  in  another  dress, 
And  as  the  evening       .       .       .       fades  away, 
The  sky  is  rilled  with  stars,  invisible  by  day. 

From  Longfellow's  l*  Moritlri  Salutamus.' 


THANKS  for  the  benediction  of  Thy  love 
Celestial,  falling  with  a  heavenly  grace 
From  out  those  heights  where  angel  ones,  above 

The  scenes  of  our  temptations,  gladly  trace 
The  paths  by  which  our  feet  may  safely  climb 
Those  starry  heights  beyond,  where  life   shall  grow 
sublime. 

Hester  M.  Poole. 


%il 


W 


IX. 


SONGS  OF  REMEMBRANCE. 


I  will  remember  Thee,  in  the  night-watches. 

"  The  dawn  is  not  distant, 
Nor  is  the  night  starless  ; 
Love  is  eternal ! 
God  is  still  God,  and 
His  faith  shall  not  fail  us  !  n 


11  Here  then  inscribe  them — each  red-letter  day  ! 
Forget  not  all  the  sunshine  of  the  way 
By  which  the  Lord  hath  led  thee  !  answered  prayers, 
And  joys  unasked  ;  strange  blessings,  lifted  cares, — 
Grand  promise  echoes  !  Thus  each  page  shall  be 
A  record  of  God's  faithfulness  to  thee." 


SONS   OF    REMEMBRANCE. 


"  O  Life  and  Love  !  O  happy  throng 
Of  thoughts,  whose  only  speech  is  song." 


HIDE  thee  awhile,  call  back  the  troublous  past; 
How  many  times  we  have  been  wakened  thus, 
while  I, 
Entered  the  dreadful  shadow,  all  aghast, 

And  found  beyond  it  a  far  brighter  sky  ; 
How  oft  the  low  black  clouds  above  me  lay, 
And  some  sweet  wind  of  God  blew  them  away. 

Hide  thee  awhile,  call  back  the  happy  past  : 

Thy  many  marvelous  mercies:  thy  delicious  days, 

When  sorrow  watched  thee  from  afar,  nor  cast 
One  shadow  o'er  love's  many  changing  ways  ; 

All  eyes  have  wept ;  life  no  new  sorrow  has  ; 

Times  come  and  go  ;  but  God  is  where  He  was. 


192  Songs   of  Utmembranc*. 

So,  soul,  come  with  me,  and  be  sure  we'll  find 

A  little  sanctuary,  wherein  dwell  faith  and  prayer, 

Then,  if  misfortune  come,  cast  doubt  behind  ; 

We  shall  have  strength   to  fight,  or  strength  to 
bear  ; 

No  prisoners  of  evil  fate  are  we, 

For  in  our  breast  we  carry  Hopeful's  key. 

Amelia  E.  Barr. 


SUM  up  at  night  what  thou  hast  done  by  day; 
And  in  the  morning  what  thou  hast  to  do. 
Dress  and  undress  thy  soul. 

George  Herbert. 


THE  things  o'er  which   we  grieved,   with  lashes 
wet, 
Will  flash  before  us  out  of  life's  dark  night, 
As  stars  shine  most  in  deeper  tints  of  blue. 


They  are  poor 
That  have  lost  nothing  :  they  are  poorer  far 
Who,  losing,  have  forgotten  ;  they  most  poor 
Of  all,  who  lose  and  wish  they  might  forget. 


Songs   of  tUmembrancc.  193 

For  life  is  one,  and  in  its  warp  and  woof 
There  runs  a  thread  of  gold  that  glitters  fair, 
And  sometimes  in  the  pattern  shows  most  sweet 
Where  there  are  somber  colors.     It  is  true 
That  we  have  wept.     But  oh  !  this  thread  of  gold, 
We  would  not  have  it  tarnish  ;  let  us  turn 
Oft  and  look  back  upon  the  wondrous  web, 
And  when  it  shineth,  sometimes  we  shall  know 
That  memory  is  possession. 

When  I  remember  something  which  I  had, 
But  which  is  gone,  and  I  must  do  without, 

I  sometimes  wonder  how  I  can  be  glad  ; 
Even  in  cowslip  time,  when  hedges  sprout, 

It  makes  me  sigh  to  think  on  it, — but  yet 

My  days  will  not  be  better  days,  should  I  forget. 

When  I  remember  something  promised  me, 
But  which  I  never  had,  nor  can  have  now, 

Because  the  promiser  we  no  more  see 

In  countries  that  accord  with  mortal  vow  ; — 

When  I  remember  this,  I  mourn — but  yet 

My  happier  days  are  not  the  days  when  I  forget. 

Jean  Ikgklow. 


FROM  the  mountain-side  of  years, 
Up  which  I  came  and  failed  or  won, 
The  places  watered  by  my  tears 
Seem  sweet  as  gardens  in  the  sun. 


194  Songs  of  Remembrance. 

From  this  calm  height  my  way  seems  plain, 
And  work  and  duty  shall  be  joy, 

Ripened,  toned  down,  and  purged  by  pain 
No  ill  my  purpose  can  destroy. 

To-day,  I  seem  to  understand 

That  pain  and  struggle,  grief  and  care, 

Are  chisels  in  an  Unseen  Hand, 
That  round  us  into  statues  fair. 

A.  P.  Miller. 


Summer  days 
And  moonlight  nights,  He  led  us  over  paths 
Bordered  with  pleasant  flowers  ;  but  when  His  steps 
Were  on  the  mighty  waters, — when  we  went 
With  trembling  hearts  through   nights  of  pain  and 

loss, — 
His  smile  was  sweeter  and  His  love  more  dear; 
And  only  Heaven  is  better,  than  to  walk 
With  Christ  at  midnight,  over  moonless  seas  ! 

"  B.  M.V 


In  dreams  that  hold 
One  hand  to  forward,  one  to  past 
We  stay  the  years  that  fly  so  fast, 
And  link  our  new  lives  to  the  old. 

F.  W.  BOUKDILLON. 


Songs   of  Hnttnttbrcmce.  195 

THINK  ye  the  notes  of  holy  song 
On  Milton's  tuneful  ear  have  died  ? 
Think  ye  that  Raphael's  angel  throng 
Have  vanished  from  his  side  ? 

Oh,  no  !  we  live  our  life  again  ; 

Or  warmly  touched,  or  coldly  dim, 
The  pictures  of  the  past  remain, — 

Man's  work  shall  follow  him. 

Whittier. 


THERE  was  a  time    when    meadow,   grove    and 
stream, 
The  earth  and  every  common  sight, 
To  me  did  seem 
Appareled  in  celestial  light, — 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream. 
It  is  not  now  as  it  hath  been  of  yore  : 
Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may, 
By  night  or  day, 
The  things  which  I  have  seen  I  now  can  see  no  more. 

The  rainbow  comes  and  goes 
And  lovely  is  the  rose  ; 
The  moon  doth  with  delight 
Look  'round  her  when  the  heavens  are  bare  ; 

Waters  on  a  starry  night 

Are  beautiful  and  fair  ; 


196  Songs  of  ftemetnbrance. 

The  sunshine  is  a  glorious  birth  ; 
But  yet  I  know,  where'er  I  go, 
That  there  hath  passed  away  a  glory  from  the  earth. 

O  joy  !  that  in  our  embers 

Is  something  that  doth  live, 
That  nature  yet  remembers 
What  was  so  fugitive  ! 
The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth  breed 
Perpetual  benediction  : 

Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 

Which  brought  us  hither, — 
Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither, 
And  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore, 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore. 

Then  sing,  sing  a  joyous  song  ! 

Though  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 

Of  splendor  in  the  grass,  of  glory  in  the  flower, — 

We  will  grieve  not,  rather  find 

Strength  in  what  remains  behind  ; 

In  the  primal  sympathy 

Which  having  been,  must  ever  be  ; 

In  the  soothing  thoughts  that  spring 

Out  of  human  suffering  ; 

In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death, 
In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 

Wordsworth. 


Gongs  of  Remembrance.  197 

1MIND  the  weary  days  of  old, 
When  motionless  I  seemed  to  lie  ; 
The  nights  when  fierce  the  billows  rolled, 

And  changed  my  course,  I  knew  not  why. 
I  feared  the  calm,  I  feared  the  gale, 

Foreboding  danger  and  delay, 
Forgetting  I  was  thus  to  sail 

To  reach  what  seemed  so  far  away. 

I  measure  not  the  loss  and  fret 

Which  through  those  years  of  doubt  I  bore  ; 
I  keep  the  memory  fresh,  and  yet 

Would  hold  God's  patient  mercy  more. 
What  wrecks  have  passed  me  in  the  gale, 

What  ships  gone  down  on  summer  days  ; 
While  I,  with  furled  or  spreading  sail, 

Stood  for  the  haven  far  away. 

A.  D.  F.  Randolph. 


THERE  is  no  soul  but  has  some  deep  regret 
For  something  lost  on  which  the  heart  was  set  ; 
Through  tear-drop  prisms  still  we  see  it  glow, 
Rimmed  with  the  splendors  of  the  glorious  bow. 
There  is  no  soul  but  sometimes  takes  its  flight 
To  those  far  skies  that  made  its  y^outh  so  bright, 
In  search  of  something  lost,  and  with  a  sigh, 
Gives  o'er  the  search,  returns  and  waits  to  die, 
And  treads  the  stony  way  with  bleeding  feet, 
To  find  it  when  the  heart  has  ceased  to  beat. 


198  Songs  of  Bentembrattce. 


O  sweet  autumnal  days  of  long  ago  ! 

How  in  my  bosom  yet  their  raptures  glow  ! 

Those  mellow  days,  when  in  the  infinite  West, 

In  some  celestial  islands  of  the  blest, 

The  angels  loosed  the  winds  and  set  them  free, 

To  roam  the  fields  and  woods  and  hills  with  me, 

While  toiling  men  in  hamlets  far  away 

Heard  the  woods  roar  through  all  the  balmy  day. 

O  blessed  days  of  sunshine  and  of  peace  ! 

When  from  the  strife  of  man  I  stole  release 

And  walked  abroad  among  the  hills  and  woods 

In  the  sweet  company  of  God's  solitudes  ; 

Through  velvet  fields  I  saw  the  rivers  run 

And  white  towns  shining  in  the  mellow  sun, 

And  heard  the  woods  their  soothing  music  pour 

From  forest  harps  with  multitudinous  roar, 

Or  saw  across  some  blue  and  distant  bay 

A  glory  fall  on  cities  far  away, 

And  taper  steeples,  tow'ring-slim  and  high, 

Stand  glorified  against  the  wondrous  sky  ! 

And  then  God  came  with  His  rich  gifts  of  power 

And  talked  and  walked  with  me  from  hour  to  hour, 

And  changed  me  to  a  harp  of  living  chords. 


41  Consolation, "  A.  P.  Miller. 


THE  sudden  joys  that  out  of  darkness  start 
As  flames  from  ashes ;  swift  desires  that  dart 
Like  swallows  singing  down  each  wind  that  blows  ! 
White  as  the  gleam  of  a  receding  sail, 


Songs  of  ttemcmbrcmcc.  199 

White  as  a  cloud  that  floats  and  fades  in  air, 
White  as  the  whitest  lily  on  a  stream, 
These  tender  memories  are  :  a  fairy  tale 
Of  some  enchanted  land,  we  know  not  where, 
But  lovely  as  a  landscape  in  a  dream  ! 

Longfellow. 


THE  happy  dreams  that  gladdened  all  our  youth 
When  dreams  had  less  of  self  and  more  of  truth ; 
The  childhood's  faith,  so  tranquil  and  so  sweet, 
Which  sat  like  Mary  at  the  Master's  feet — 
These  are  not  lost. 


Not  lost,  O  Lord  !  for  in  thy  city  bright, 
Our  eyes  shall  see  the  past  by  clearer  light, 
And  things  long  hidden  from  our  gaze  below, 
Thou  wilt  reveal,  and  we  shall  surely  know — 
These  are  not  lost. 


O   MEMORY,  ope  thy  mystic  door  ; 
O  dream  of  youth  return  ; 
And  let  the  light  that  gleamed  of  yore 
Beside  this  altar  burn. 


200  Songs  of  Hententbrance. 

The  past  is  plain  ;  'twas  love  designed 

E'en  sorrow's  iron  chain  ; 
And  mercy's  shining  thread  has  twined 

With  the  dark  warp  of  pain. 

David  Gray. 


No  strain 

That  e'er  awakened  human  smiles  or  tears 

Is  lost  ;  nor  shall  we  call  it  back  in  vain. 
Beside  the  shore,  amid  the  eternal  spheres, 

Hark,  the  beloved  voices  once  again 
Rise  from  the  winds  and  waves  to  soothe  mine  ears. 


SOME  comfort  when  all  else  is  night, 
About  his  fortune  plays, 
Who  sets  his  dark  to-days  in  the  light 
Of  the  sunnier  yesterdays. 

In  memory  of  joy  that's  been 

Something  of  joy,  is  still  ; 
Where  no  dew  is,  wre  may  dabble  in 

A  dream  of  the  dew  at  will. 


Songs  of  flemembrance.  201 

Thank  God,  when  other  power  decays, 

And  other  pleasures  die, 
We  still  may  set  our  dark  to-days, 

In  the  light  of  days  gone  by. 

Alice  Carv. 


NOT  to  forget,  when  pain  and  grief  draw  nigh, 
Into  the  ocean  of  time  past,  to  dive 
For  memories  of  God's  mercies. 

Henry  Septimus  Sutton. 


W'HEN  doomed  to  feel  that  youth  is  o'er, 
That  spring  and  summer  both  have  fled, 
That  we  can  wake  to  life  no  more, 

The  buds  and  blossoms  that  are  dead  ; 
That  evermore  the  years  will  steal 

Some  brightness  as  they  hurry  on, 
And  with  the  past  we  know  and  feel 
The  glory  of  our  life  is  gone  ; 

And  still,  the  skies  are  just  as  blue, 

The  golden  suns  as  warm  and  bright, 
No  star  has  lost  its  radiant  hue, 

Or  faded  from  the  crown  of  night ; 
And  beauty's  cheek  is  still  as  fair, 

The  songs  of  birds  as  sweet  at  morn, 
The  flowers  bloom,  and  in  the  air 

The  fragrance  of  the  spring  is  born. 


202  Songs  of  Remembrance. 

But  oh,  to  think  of  all  the  past, 

How  much  of  good  there  was  to  glean, 
How  little  came  to  us  at  last, 

And  yet,  and  yet,  what  might  have  been  ! 
How  shadows  gather  o'er  the  heart, 

The  night  winds  bear  a  sadder  strain  ; 
The  eyes  grow  dim  with  tears  that  start, 

And  memory's  gates  we  close  in  vain. 


BUILD  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 
As  the  swift  seasons  roll  ! 
Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea  ! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


X. 


SONGS  IN  SICKNESS. 


1  The  mark  of  rank  in  Nature 
Is  capacity  for  pain, 
And  the  anguish  of  the  singer 

Makes  the  sweetness  of  the  strain  ! 


1  There's  a  purpose  in  pain, 
Else  it  were  devilish  !  " 


If  broken  lives  may  best  complete 

Thy  circle,  let  our  fragments  fall 

An  offering  at  Thy  feet." 


SONGS   IN    SICKNESS. 


God  has  use  for  all  thy  pain. 


I  trust  in  my  soul 
That  the  great  master  hand  which  sweeps  over   the 

whole 
Of  this  deep  harp  of  life,  if  at  moments  it  stretch 
To  shrill  tension  some  one  wailrng  nerve,  means  to 

fetch 
Its  response  the  truest,  most  stringent  and  smart, — 
Its  pathos  the  purest,  from  out  the  wrung  heart, 
Whose  faculties,  flaccid  it  may  be,  if  less 
Sharply  strung,  sharply  smitten,   had   failed    to  ex- 
press 
Just  the  one  note,  the  great  harmony  needs. 

Owen  Meridith's  " Lucille." 


THIS  leaf?  this  stone  ?     It  is  thy  heart ; 
It  must  be  crushed  by  pain  and  smart, 
It  must  be  cleansed  by  sorrow's  art — 


206  Songs  in  Sickness. 

Ere  it  will  yield  a  fragrance  sweet, 
Ere  it  will  shine  a  jewel  meet, 
To  lay  before  thy  dear  Lord's  feet. 


THE  same  old  baffling  questions  !  O  my  friend 
I  cannot  answer  them.     In  vain  I  send 
My  soul  into  the  dark,  where  never  burn 
The  lamps  of  science,  nor  the  natural  light 
Of  Reason's  sun  and  stars  !     I  cannot  learn 
Their  great  and  solemn  meanings,  nor  discern 
The  awful  secrets  of  the  eyes  which  turn 
Evermore  on  us  through  the  day  and  night, 
With  silent  challenge,  and  a  dumb  demand, 
Proffering  the  riddles  of  the  dread  unknown 
Like  the  calm  sphinxes  with  their  eyes  of  stone, 
Questioning  the  centuries  from  their  veils  of  sand. 
I  have  no  answer  for  myself  or  thee, 
Save  that  I  learned  at  my  mother's  knee  : 
"  All  is  of  God  that  is,  and  is  to  be, 
And  God  is  good  !  "    Let  this  suffice  us  still 
Resting  in  child-like  trust  upon  His  will, 
Who  moveth  His  great  ends  unthwarted  by  the  ill. 

Whittikr. 


KNOW  Thy  wondrous  ways  will  end 
In  love  and  blessing,  Thou  true  friend! 


Songs  in  Sickness.  207 

Enough  if  Thou  art  ever  near. 
I  know  whom  Thou  wilt  glorify 
And  raise  o'er  sun  and  stars  on  high, 

Thou  lead'st  through  depths  of  darkness  here 


I  WAIT, 

Till  from  my  veiled  brows  shall  fall 

This  being's  thrall, 
Which  keeps  me  now  from  knowing  all. 
In  stormless  mornings  yet  to  be 
I'll  pluck  from  Life's  full  fruited  tree, 

The  joys  to-day  denied  to  me. 

Mary  Clemmer. 


T 


HEY  who  have  learned  to  pray  aright, 
From  Pain's  dark  well  draw  up  delight. 


THE  Border-Lands  are  calm  and  still, 
And  solemn  are  their  silent  shades 
And  my  heart  welcomes  them,  until 
The  light  of  life's  long  evening  fades. 

I  heard  them  spoken  of  with  dread, 
As  fearful  and  unquiet  places  ; 

Shades  where  the  living  and  the  dead 
Looked  sadly  in  each  other's  faces. 


208  Songs  in  Sickness. 

But  since  Thy  hand  hath  led  me  here 
And  I  have  seen  the  Border-Land — 

Seen  the  dark  river  flowing  near, 
Stood  on  its  brink  as  now  I  stand, 

There  has  been  nothing  to  alarm 

My  trembling  soul  ;  how  could  I  fear 

While  thus  encircled  with  Thine  arm  ? 
I  never  felt  Thee  half  so  near. 

They  say  the  waves  are  dark  and  deep, 
That  faith  has  perished  in  the  river  ; 

They  speak  of  death  with  fear,  and  weep, 
Shall  my  soul  perish  ?     Never  !     never  ! 

I  know  that  Thou  wilt  never  leave 
The  soul  that  trembles  while  it  clings 

To  Thee  :  I  know  Thou  wilt  achieve 
Its  passage  on  Thine  outspread  wings. 

And  since  I  first  was  brought  so  near 
The  stream  that  flows  to  the  Dead  Sea, 

I  think  that  it  has  grown  more  clear 
And  shallow  than  it  used  to  be. 


ONCE  Pain  beat  upon  my  heart 
And  well-nigh  killed  it. 
I  shuddered  at  the  smart, 
But  said  "  God  willed  it." 


Songs   in   Sickness.  209 

And  down  and  down  again, 

With  awful  power, 
Fell  the  great  hand  of  Pain, 

Hour  after  hour. 

While  like  a  mighty  flail, 

The  fierce  blows  hurt  me, 
I  cried,  "  God  doth  prevail, 

He'll  not  desert  me." 

Blow  upon  cruel  blow, 

The  great  hand  gave  me, 
Yet  I  cried,  "  He  doth  know 

And  He  will  save  me." 

I  did  not  loudly  cry, 

And  ask  God's  reason ; 
I  knew  He'd  tell  me  why 

In  His  own  season. 

"  In  His  good  time,"  I  said, 
In  trusting  blindness, 
And  I  was  not  afraid 
To  wait  His  kindness. 

I  did  not  trust  in  vain, 

God  drew  me  nearer, 
And  whispered,  "Smile  again  ! 

The  way  is  clearer." 


210  Songs  in  Sickness. 

And  lo  !  my  mortal  sight 

Could  reach  to  heaven, 
My  faith  dispelled  the  night, 

And  light  was  given. 

Ella  Wheeler. 


I    HAVE  some  songs  I  do  not  sing 
To  any  human  ear  ; 
None  can  discern  the  precious  thing 
Which  is  to  me  so  dear. 


No  sympathy  goes  far  enough  ; 

No  soul  comes  into  mine  ; 
No  critic's  voice  but  sounds  too  rough, 

For  me  to  lend  a  line. 


They  are  my  songs,  my  precious  songs, 

That  come  to  me  by  night ; 
Their  very  rhythmic  pulse  belongs 

To  fancy's  farthest  flight. 

In  them  my  spirit  moved  at  will 
Between  the  earth  and  sky  ; 

I  cannot  catch  again  the  thrill 
I  felt  when  stars  passed  by. 


Sengs  in  Sickness.  211 

So  blame  ine  not  ;  I  cannot  sing, 

To  any  human  ear, 
Those  anthems  of  my  suffering 

Which  are  to  me  so  clear. 

Rev.  Samuel  Duffield. 


WHAT  though  the  web   our  hands   shall  leave 
undone 
Be  tangled,  and  its  pattern  feebly  wrought  ? 
If  it  be  finished  by  some  stronger  one, 

The  stronger  soul  may  win  the  goal  we  sought. 

Some  soul  shall  reap  what  wTe  have  sown  in  tears. 

Laura  B.  Boyce. 


IF  I  must  win  my  way  to  perfectness 
In  the  sad  path  of  suffering,  like  Him 
The  over-flowing  river  of  whose  life 
Touches  the  flood-mark  of  humanity 
On  the  white  pillars  of  the  heavenly  throne, 
Then  welcome     ....     sickness     .     . 
Sorrow  and  pain,  the  fear  and  fact  of  death  ! 

Dr.  J.  G.  Holland. 


2i2  Songs  in  Sickness. 


w 


HAT  profit  to  lay  on  God's  altar 
Oblations  of  pain  ? — 


Can  He  in  the  infinite  gladness 

That  floods  all  His  being  with  light 

Complacently  look  on  the  sadness 
That  dares  to  intrude  on  His  sight  ? 

Can  He,  in  His  rhythmic  creation 
Attuned  to  the  chant  of  the  spheres, 

Bear  the  discord  of  moans,  the  vibration 
Of  down-dropping  tears  ? 

Be  quiet,  poor  heart  !     Are  the  lessons 

Life  sets  thee  so  hard  to  attain 
That  thou  know'st  not  their  potentest  essence 

Lies  wrapped  in  the  problem  of  pain  ? 
Even  Nature  such  rudiments  teaches  ; — 

The  birth-throe  presages  the  breath  ; 
The  soul  so  high  destined,  reaches 
Its  highest  through  death. 
t 

No  beaker  is  brimmed  without  bruising 
The  clusters  that  gladden  the  vine  ; 

No  gem,  glitters  star-like,  refusing 
The  rasp  that  uncovers  its  shine  ; 

The  diver  must  dare  the  commotion 
Of  billows  above  him  that  swirl, 

Ere  he  from  the  depths  of  the  ocean 
Can  bring  up  the  pearl. 


Songs  in  Sickness.  213 

And  He,  who  is  molding-  the  spirit, 

Through  disciplines  changeful  and  sore, 

That  so  it  be  fit  to  inherit 

The  marvelous  heirship  in  store — 

He  measures  the  weight  He  is  piling, 
He  tempers  the  surge  with  a  touch, 

There'll  not  be  a  graze  of  His  filing 
Too  little,  too  much. 

O  heart,  canst  thou  trust  Him  ?     For  sake  of 

Attainment  the  noblest,  the  best, 
Content  thee  awhile  to  partake  of 

These  trials  so  wisely  impressed  ; 
Nor  question  God's  goodness,  nor  falter, 

Nor  say  that  Thy  service  is  vain, 
If  He  bids  thee  bring  to  His  altar 
Oblations  of  pain. 

Margaret  J.  Preston. 


A  LITTLE  bird  flew  my  window  by, 
'Twixt  the  level  street  and  the  level  sky, 
The  level  rows  of  houses  tall, 
The  long  low  sun  on  the  level  wall  ; 
And  all  that  the  little  bird  did  say 
Was,  "  Over  the  hills  and  far  away." 

A  little  bird  sings  above  my  bed, 
And  I  know  if  I  could  but  lift  my  head 


2i4  Stftigs  in  Sickness. 


I  would  see  the  sun  set,  round  and  grand, 
Upon  level  sea  and  level  sand, 
While  beyond  the  misty  distance  gray 
Is  "  Over  the  hills  and  far  away." 


I  think  that  a  little  bird  will  sing 

Over  a  grassy  mound  next  spring, 

Where  something  that  once  was  me,  ye'll  leave 

In  the  level  sunshine,  morn  and  eve  : 

But  I  shall  be  gone,  past  night,  past  day, 

"  Over  the  hills  and  far  away." 

Miss  Mulock. 


1   THOUGHT  to  work  for  Him.      "  Master,"  I  said, 
"  Behold  how  wide  the  fields,  and  the  good  seed 
How  few  to  sow.     For  Thee  all  toil  were  sweet — 
Oh,  bid  me  go."     He  stayed  my  eager  feet. 
"  Not  that,. my  child,  the  task  I  have  for  thee." 


"  Thou  seest,  Lord,  how  white  the  harvest  bends, 
How  worn  the  reapers  are.     Their  cry  ascends 
For  help,  more  help,  to  garner  up  the  grain — 
Here  am  I,  Lord  ;  send  me."     Alas,  in  vain  ! 
The  Master  saith,  "Let  others  bind  the  sheaves." 


Songs  in  Sickness.  215 

"  Thy  lambs,  dear  Lord,  are  straying  from  the  fold. 
Their  feet  are  stumbling  o'er  the  mountains  cold — 
Far  in  the  night  I  hear  their  piteous  cry — 
Let  me  bring  back  the  wanderers  ere  they  die." 
"  Xo  ;   other  hands  must  lead  them  home  again." 

M  Dear  Master,  dost  Thou  see  the  bitter  tears 
The  mourners  shed  ?  Through  all  the  long  sad  years 
Their  wails  ascend.     Wilt  thou  not  bid  me  say, 
Thy  hand  shall  wipe  each  mourner's  tears  away." 
11  My  child,  I  know  their  griefs,  and  I  wiM  heal." 

11  'Tis  not  for  thee  to  sow  the  deathless  seed, 
Nor  thine  to  bind  the  sheaves;  nor  thine  to  lead 
The  lost  lambs  back  into  their  fold  again, 
Nor  yet  to  soothe  the  sore  heart  crushed  with  pain  ; 
For  thee,  my  child,  another  task  is  set." 

And  then  He  led  me  to  my  darkened  room, 
And  there  amid  the  silence  and  the  gloom, 
My  task  I  found.     But  I  am  well  content 
To  bear  the  pain  and  weakness  He  hath  sent, 
Rejoiced  that  I  can  suffer  for  His  sake. 


FATHER,  I  must  "  lean  hard," 
And  lay  on  Thee  the  burden  of  this  pain  ; 
This  murmuring  impatience  too — thou  know'st 
Is  harder  still  to  bear.      My  fainting  heart 


216  Songs  in  Sickness. 

Must  find  its  shelter  'neath  the  circling1  arms 
Of  thine  own  deep  love.     Firm,  clasp  it  there  ! 
Take  all  my  burden — thou  said'st  it  shall  be  thine; 
Leaning  on  thee,  I  know  I  shall  be  strong. 
Father  !  dear  Father  !  I  would  be  closer  yet ; 
But  thou  must  draw  me,  else  I  cannot  come. 
Thine  arm  is  not  enough — where  else  can  I  repose 
But  on  thy  loving  breast  ?     Soft  pillowed  there 
Forever  let  me  lie  !     Weary  and  weak, 
My  feet  had  stumbled  on  this  rugged  way, 
Had'st  thou  not  held  my  hand  ;  and  now  I'm  come 
Close  to  the  narrow  stream — e'en  should  its  waters 
Roar  and  waves  swell  high — thine  everlasting  arms 
Shall  bear  me  safely  through — its  floods  can  ne'er 
O'erwhelm.     Father,  thou  lov'st  thy  child — 
I  do  not  doubt — but  will  "  lean  hard." 


ALL  the  day  long  1  seem  to  float  away 
Through  the  gray  mists  that  hide  both  sea  and 
sun, 
I  hear  the  plash  of  waves  ;  I  feel  their  spray, 
And  still  my  boat  is  drifting  farther  on. 

Love  cannot  reach  me ;  death  and  night  alone 
Are  with  me  and  with  ever-deepening  shade 

Curtain  me  'round,  till  darkness  thick  has  grown, 
And  helpless  hands  are  stretched  in  vain  for  aid. 


Songs   in   Sickness.  217 

God  has  forgotten  ;  only  pain  has  life, 

And  weakness,  stealing  soul  and  sense  away, 

God  has  forgotten,  and  amid  the  strife 

I  hear  the  unknown  sea  and  feel  its  spray. 

Faint  through  the  darkness  shines  a  tender  light  ; 

Soft  falls  a  voice  I  cannot  help  but  hear — 
"  Through  waters  deep  thou  passest,  yet  thy  sight 
Full    soon  shall  know,   thy  Lord    was  always 
near." 

Helen  Campbell. 


O  SUDDEN  blast,  that  through  this  silence  black 
Sweeps  past  my  windows, 
Coming  and  going  with  invisible  track 
As  death  or  sin  does, — 

Why  scare  me,  lying  sick,  and,  save  thine  own, 

Hearing  no  voices  ? 
Why  mingle  with  a  helpless  human  moan 

Thy  mad  rejoicings  ? 

Why  not  come  gently,  as  good  angels  come 

To  souls  departing, 
Floating  among  the  shadows  of  the  room 

With  eyes  light-darting, 


218  gongs  in  Sickness* 

Bringing  faint  airs  of  balm  that  seem  to  rouse 

Thoughts  of  a  far  land, 
Then  binding  softly  upon  weary  brows 

Death's  poppy  garland  ? 

O  fearful  blast,  I  shudder  at  thy  sound 

Like  heathen  mortal 
Who  saw  the  Three  that  mark  life's  doomed  bound 

Sit  at  his  portal. 

Thou  mightst  be  laden  with  sad,  shrieking  souls, 

Carried  unwilling 
From  their  known  earth  to  the  unknown  stream  that 
rolls, 

All  anguish  stilling. 

Fierce  wind,  will  the  death-angel  come  like  thee, 

Soon,  soon  to  bear  me 
— Whither  ?  what  mysteries  may  unfold  to  me, 

What  terrors  scare  me  ? 

Shall  I  go  wandering  on,  through  empty  space 

As  on  earth,  lonely  ? 
Or  seek  through  myriad  spirit-ranks  one  face, 

And  miss  that  only  ? 

Shall  I  then  drop  down  from  sphere  to  sphere 

Palsied  and  aimless  ? 
Or  will  my  being  change  so,  that  both  fear 

And  grief  die  nameless  ? 


Songs   in  Sickness.  219 

Rather  I  pray  Him  who  Himself  is  love, 

That  even  His  brightness  may  not  quite  efface 

The  soul's  earth-features, 
That  in  the  dear  human  likeness  each  may  trace 

Glorified  creatures  ; 

That  we  may  not  cease  loving,  only  taught 

Holier  desiring  ; 
More    faith,    more    patience  ;    with    more    wisdom 
fraught, 

Higher  aspiring. 


Then,  strong  Azrael,  be  thy  supreme  call 

Soft  as  spring-breezes, 
Or  like  this  blast,  whose  loud  fiend  festival 

My  heart's  blood  freezes, 

I  will  not  fear  thee.     If  thou  safely  keep 

My  soul,  God's  giving, 
And  my  soul's  soul,  I,  wakening  from  death-sleep 

Shall  first  know  living. 

Miss  Mulock. 


THE  Lord  knoweth  when  each  hot  tear  rloweth 
From  eyes  of  those  who  suffer  while  they  pray; 
He  knows  their  sorrow,  in  the  glad  to-morrow 
Will  wipe  in  gentleness  those  drops  away. 


220  Songs   in  Sickness. 

The  Lord  knoweth  when  the  slow  pulse  showeth, 
That  we  are  drawing  near  to  Jordan's  strand, 

When  our  heart  faileth,  then  His  strength  availeth, 
And  brings  us  safely  to  the  better  land. 

The  Lord  knoweth  !     If  your  faint  heart  troweth, 

It  is  uncared  for  by  its  God  above, 
Oh,  doubt  no  longer,  but  in  this  be  stronger, 

He  knoweth  all  things,  and  His  name  is  Love. 

G.  Z.  G. 


PAIN'S  furnace-heat  within  me  quivers, 
God's  breath  upon  the  fire  doth  blow, 
And  all  my  heart  in  anguish  shivers, 

And  trembles  at  the  fiery  glow  ; 
And  yet  I  whisper,  "  As  God  will  !  " 
And  in  His  hottest  fire  hold  still. 


He  comes,  and  lays  my  heart,  all  heated, 

On  the  bare  anvil,  minded  so 
Into  His  own  fair  shape  to  beat  it, 

With  His  great  hammer,  blow  on  blow; 
And  yet  I  whisper,  "  As  God  will  !  " 
And  at  His  heaviest  blows  hold  still. 


Scrngs  in   Sickness.  221 

He  takes  my  softened  heart  and  beats  it. 

The  sparks  fly  off  at  every  blow. 
He  turns  it  o'er  and  o'er,  and  heats  it, 

And  lets  it  cool  and  makes  it  glow. 
And  yet  I  whisper,  "  As  God  will  !  " 
And  in  His  mighty  hand  hold  still. 

Why  should  I  murmur  ?  for  the  sorrow 

Thus  only  longer-lived  would  be  ; 
Its  end  may  come,  and  will,  to-morrow, 

When  God  has  done  His  work  in  me  : 
So  I  say  trusting,  "  As  God  will  !  " 
And  trusting  to  the  end,  hold  still. 

He  kindles  for  my  profit  purely, 

Affliction's  fiery,  glowing  brand  ; 
And  all  his  heaviest  blows  are  surely 

Inflicted  by  a  master-hand ; 
So  I  say  praying,  "  As  God  will  !  " 
And  hope  in  Him,  and  suffer  still. 


A   LIFE  of  waiting,  lived  as  for  the  Lord, 
Shall  never  in  his  sight  be  counted  lost. 
Dost  find  it  hard  to  wait?     Remember  this, 
Our  will,  opposing  God's  will,  makes  the  cross. 


222  Songs  in  Sickness. 

God's  plans  are  great  and  deep,  His  ways  are  wide  ; 

We  strive  in  vain  His  will  to  understand, 
Till,  looking  upward  through  the  1711st  of  doubt, 

We  hear  His  loving  voice,  and  clasp  His  hand. 

The  reason  here  we  may  not  understand 
Why  He  should  bid  some  labor,  others  rest ; 

But  since  His  love  and  wisdom  cannot  fail, 

We  know  His  ways  are  right,  His  plans  are  best. 


CONTENT  thee— so  the  angel  saith  — 
Thy  minor  makes  the  triumph  strain 
Sound  sweeter  on  celestial  breath — 
And  God  has  use  for  all  thy  pain. 
His  joy  thy  struggling  soul  may  reach  ; 

From  the  strong  slain  comes  sweetness  still. 
And  God  lets  suffering  only  teach 
Some  best  revealings  of  His  will. 


IF  thou,  impatient,  do  let  slip  thy  cross, 
Thou  wilt  not  find  it  in  this  world  again, 
Nor  in  another  ;  here  and  here  aloiie 
Is  given  thee  to  suffer  for  God's  sake. 
In  other  worlds  we  shall  more  perfectly 
Serve  Him,  and  love   Him,   praise   Him,   work  for 
Him, 


Songs  in  Sickness.  223 


Grow  nearer  and  nearer  Him  with  all  delight  ; 

But  then  we  shall  not  any  more  be  called 

To  suffer,  which  is  our  appointment  here. 

Canst  thou  not  suffer  then  one  hour — or  two  ? 

If  He  should  call  thee  from  thy  cross  to-day, 

Saying-,  "  It  is  finished  !  " — that  hard  cross  of  thine 

From  which  thou  prayest  for  deliverance, 

Thinkst  thou  not  some  passion  of  regret 

Would  overcome  thee  ?  Thou  wouldst  say,  "So  soon  ? 

Let  me  go  back,  and  suffer  yet  awhile 

More  patiently — I  have  not  yet  praised  God." 

And  He  might  answer  to  thee — "  Never  more. 

All  pain  is  done  with."     Whensoe'er  it  comes, 

That  summons  that  we  look  for,  it  will  seem 

Soon,  yea,  too  soon.     Let  us  take  heed  in  time 

That  God  may  now  be  glorified  in  us; 

And  while  we  suffer,  let  us  set  our  souls 

To  suffer  perfectly  ;  since  this  alone, — 

The  suffering,  which  is  this  world's  special  grace, 

May  here  be  perfected,  and  left  behind. 

From  Ugo  Bassi's  Sermon. 


LORD,  a  little,  little  longer  !  " 
Sobs  the  earth-love,  growing  stronger, 
He  will  miss  me,  and  go  mourning  through  his  soli- 
tary days, 
And  heaven  were  scarcely  heaven, 
If  these  lambs  which  thou  hast  given 
Were  to  slip  out  of  our  keeping  and  be  lost  in  the 
world's  ways. 


224  Songs  in  Sickness. 

Lord,  it  is  not  fear  of  dying-, 
Nor  an'impious  denying 
Of  Thy  will,  which  forevermore  on  earth,  in  heave 
be  done; 
But  the  love  that  desperate  clings 
Unto  these,  my  precious  things 
In  the  beauty  of  the  daylight,  and  the  glory  of  the 
sun. 

Ah,  Thou  still  art  calling,  calling, 
With  a  soft  voice  unappalling; 
And  it  vibrates  in  far  circles  through  the  everlasting 
years  ; 
When  Thou  knockest,  even  so  ! 
I  will  arise  and  go. — 

Miss  Mulock. 


THOU,  who  so  long  has  pressed  the  couch  of  pain, 
Oh  welcome,  welcome  back  to  life's  free  breath, 
To  life's  free  breath  and  day's  sweet  light  again, 
From  the  chill  shadows  of  the  gate  of  death  ! 

For  thou  hadst  reached  the  twilight  bound  between 
The  world  of  spirits  and  this  grosser  sphere  ; 

Dimly  by  thee  the  things  of  earth  were  seen, 
And  faintly  fell  earth's  voices  on  thine  ear. 


Songs  in   Sickness.  225 

Thou  wert  not  weary  of  thy  lot  ;  the  earth 
Was  ever  good  and  pleasant  in  thy  sight  ; 

Still  clung  thy  loves  about  the  household  hearth, 
And  sweet  was  every  day's  returning  light. 


Then  welcome  back  to  all  thou  wouldst  not  leave, 
To  this  grand  march  of  seasons,  days  and  hours  ; 

The  glory  of  the  morn,  the  glow  of  eve, 

The  beauty  of  the  streams  and  stars  and  flowers. 


Thou  bring'st  no  tidings  of  the  better  land, 

Even  from  its  verge;  the  mysteries  opened  there 

Are  what  the  faithful  heart  may  understand 
In  its  still  depths,  yet  words  may  not  declare. 


And  well  I  deem,  that  from  the  brighter  side 
Of  life's  dim  border,  some  o'errlowing  rays 

Streamed  from  the  inner  glory,  shall  abide 
Upon  thy  spirit  through  the  coming  days. 


Now  may  we  keep  thee  from  the  balmy  air 
And  radiant  walks  of  heaven  a  little  space, 

Where  He,  who  went  before  thee  to  prepare 
For  his  meek  followers,  shall  assign  thy  place. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


XI. 


SONGS  IN  BEREAVEMENT. 


"  Let  us  go  in  and  see  how  the  dead  rest !  " 

"  Ah  !  I  believe  there  is  no  away ;  that  no  love,  no 
life,  goes  ever  from  us  ;  it  goes  as  He  went,  that  it  may 
come  again,  deeper  and  closer  and  surer,  to  be  with  us 
always — even  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

"  O  solitary  love  !  thou  art  so  strong, 

I  think  God  will  take  pity  on  thee  ere  long. 

And  take  thee  where  thou'lt  find  those  angel  faces  fair." 


SONGS  IN  BEREAVEMENT. 


HE  who  died  at  Azan  sends 
This  to  comfort  all  his  friends. 
Faithful  friends  !     It  lies,  I  know, 
Pale  and  white  and  cold  as  snow  ; 
And  ye  say,  "  Abdallah's  dead  ! " 
Weeping  at  the  feet  and  head, 
I  can  see  your  falling  tears, 
I  can  hear  your  sighs  and  prayers  ; 
Yet  I  smile  and  whisper  this — 
1  I  am  not  the  thing  you  kiss  ; 
Cease  your  tears  and  let  it  lie  ; 
It  was  mine,  it  is  not  '  I.' " 


Sweet  friends  !  what  the  women  lave 
For  its  last  bed,  called  the  grave, 
Is  a  hut  which  I  am  quitting, 
Is  a  garment  no  more  fitting, 


230  Songs  in  Bereavement. 


Is  a  cage  from  which  at  last 

Like  a  bird,  my  soul  has  passed ; 

Love  the  inmate,  not  the  room  ; 

The  wearer,  not  the  garb  ;  the  plume 

Of  the  falcon,  not  the  bars 

Which  kept  him  from  those  splendid  stars  ! 

Loving  friends  !     be  wise  and  dry 
Straightway  every  weeping  eye  : 
What  ye  lift  upon  the  bier 
Is  not  worth  a  wistful  tear. 
Tis  an  empty  sea-shell  — one 
Out  of  which  the  pearl  has  gone  : 
The  shell  is  broken — it  lies  there  ; 
The  pearl,  the  all,  the  soul  is  here. 
Tis  an  earthen  jar  whose  lid 
Allah  sealed,  the  while  it  hid 
That  treasure  of  its  treasury, 
A  mind  that  loved  him  ;  let  it  lie  ! 
Let  the  shard  be  earth's  once  more, 
Since  the  gold  shines  in  his  store  ! 

Allah  glorious  !     Allah  good  ! 
Now  thy  world  is  understood  ; 
Now  the  long,  long  wonder  ends  ! 
Yet  ye  weep,  my  erring  friends, 
While  the  man  whom  ye  call  dead, 
In  unspoken  bliss,  instead, 
Lives  and  loves  you  ;  lost,  'tis  true, 
By  such  light  as  shines  for  you  ; 


Songs  in   Uercancment. 


But  in  light  ye  cannot  see 
Of  unfilled  felicity — 
In  enlarging-  Paradise — 
Lives  a  life  that  never  dies. 

Farewell,  friends  !     Yet  not  farewell  ; 
Where  I  am,  ye  too  shall  dwell. 
I  am  gone  before  your  face 
A  moment's  time,  a  little  space  ; 
When  ye  come  where  I  have  stepped, 
Ye  will  wonder  why  ye  wept ; 
Ye  will  know  by  wise  love  taught, 
That  here  is  all,  and  there  is  naught. 
Weep  awhile,  if  ye  are  fain — 
Sunshine  still  must  follow  rain — 
Only  not  at  death ;  for  death 
Now  we  know,  is  that  first  breath 
Which  our  souls  draw  when  we  enter 
Life,  which  is  of  life  the  centre. 

Be  ye  certain  all  seems  love 
Viewed  from  Allah's  throne  above  ; 
Be  ye  stout  of  heart  and  come 
Bravely  onward  to  your  home  ! 
La-il  Allah  !     Allah-la  I 
O  Love  divine  !     O  Love  alway  ! 

He  who  died  at  Azan  gave 

This  to  those  who  made  his  grave. 

Edwin  Arnold. 


232  Songs  in  Rexzavemznl. 


-Know  that  his  dear  children  cannot  die, 


But  gently  lapsing  to  an  ampler  life 

Through  the  brief  sleep  we  misname  death,  awake 

In  His  most  glorious  likeness. 


SHOULD  bereavement's  heavy  shadow 
Pall-like  clothe  thy  stricken  heart, 
And  the  very  stars  above  thee 

Cease  their  lessons  to  impart, 
Think  the  clear  ones,  whose  departure 
Round  thy  soul  such  darkness  cast, 
Somewhere  find  the  heavenly  morning 
That  may  rise  on  thee  at  last. 


OUR  prince  has  gone  to  his  inheritance  ! 
Think  it  not  strange.      What  if,  with  slight 
half  smile, 
Some   crowned    king    to    leave    his    throne   should 
chance, 
And  try  the  rough  ways  of  the  world  awhile  ? 

Ere  he  had  wearied  of  its  storm  and  stress, 
Would  he  not  hasten  to  his  own  again  ? 

Why  should  he  bear  its  labor  and  duress, 
And  all  the  untold  burden  of  its  pain  ? 


Scmgs  in  Bereavement.  233 


Or  what  if  from  the  golden  palace  gate 

The  kings  fair  son  on  some  bright  morn  should 
stray  ? 
Would  he  not  send  his  lords  of  high  estate 
To  lead  him  back  ere  fell  the  close  of  day  ? 

Julia  C.  R.  Dorr. 


When  you  see  a  soul  set  free 

From  this  poor  seed  of  its  mortality, 

And  know  you  saw  not  that  which  is  to  be, 

Watch  you  about  the  tomb 

For  its  immortal  bloom  ? 

Search  for  your  flowers  in  the  celestial  grove  : 
Look  for  your  precious  stream  of  human  love 
In  the  unfathomable  sea  above  : 

Follow  your  missing  bird 
Where  songs  are  always  heard  ! 

Phcebe  Cary. 


IF  for  a  time  some  loved  one  goes  away, 
And  leaves  us  our  appointed  work  to  do, 
Can  we  to  him  or  to  ourselves  be  true 
In  mourning  his  departure  day  by  day 
And  so  our  work  delay  ? 


234  Songs  in  Bereamntent. 

Nay,  if  .we  love  and  honor,  we  shall  make 

The  absence  brief  by  doing  well  our  task — 
Not  for  ourselves,  but  for  the  dear  one's  sake  ! 
And  at  his  coming  only  of  him  ask 

Approval  of  the  work,  which  most  was  done ; 
Not  for  ourselves,  but  our  beloved  one. 

Our  Father's  house  I  know  is  broad  and  grand  ; 
In  it  how  many,  many  mansions  are  ! 
And  far  beyond  the  light  ot  sun  or  star, 
Four  little  ones  of  mine,  through  that  fair  land 

Are  walking  hand  in  hand  ! 
Think  you  I  love  not,  or  that  I  forget 

These  of  my  loins  ?     Still  this  world  is  fair, 
And  I  am  singing  while  my  eyes  are  wet 

With  weeping  in  this  balmy  summer  air  : 

I  am  not  homesick,  and  the  children  here 
Have  need  of  me,  and  so  my  way  is  clear. 

I  would  be  joyful  as  my  clays  go  by, 

Counting  God's  mercies  to  me.      He  who  bore 
Life's  heaviest  cross  is  mine  forevermore, 
And  I,  who  wait  His  coming,  shall  not  I 

On  His  sure  word  rely  ? 
So  if  sometimes  the  way  be  rough,  and  sleep 

Be  heavy  for  the  grief  He  sends  to  me, 
Or  at  my  waking  I  would  only  weep — 

Let  me  be  mindful  these  are  things  to  be, 
To  work  His  blessed  will  until  He  come, 
And  take  my  hand  and  lead  me  safely  home. 

A    D.  F.  Randolph. 


Songs  in  Bereavement.  235 

God  keeps  a  niche 
In  Heaven,  to  hold  our  idols  ;  and  albeit 
He  brake  them  to  our  faces,  and  denied 
That  our  close  kisses  should  impair  their  white, — 
I  know  we  shall  behold  them  raised,  complete, 
The  dust  swept  from  their  beauty. 

E.  B.  Browning. 


N 


O  bird-song-  floated  down  the  hill, 
The  tangled  bank  below  was  still  ; 


No  rustle  from  the  birchen  stem, 
No  ripples  from  the  water's  hem. 

The  dusk  of  twilight  round  us  grew, 
We  felt  the  falling  of  the  dew  ; 

For  from  us,  ere  the  day  was  done, 
The  wooded  hills  shut  out  the  sun. 

But  on  the  river's  farther  side, 
We  saw  the  hill-tops  glorified  : 

A  tender  glow,  exceeding  fair, 
A  dream  of  day  without  its  glare, 

With  us  the  damp,  the  chill,  the  gloom, 
With  them  the  sunset's  rosy  bloom  : 


236  Songs  in  litxcavtmcnL 

While  dark  through  willowy  vistas  seen, 
The  river  rolled  in  shade  between, 

From  out  the  darkness,  where  we  trod, 
We  gazed  upon  those  hills  of  God, 

Whose  light  seemed  not  of  moon  or  sun  ; 
We  spake  not,  but  our  thought  was  one. 

We  paused,  as  if  from  that  bright  shore 
Beckoned  our  dear  ones  gone  before ; 

And  stilled  our  beating  hearts  to  hear 
The  voices  lost  to  mortal  ear  ! 

Sudden  our  pathway  turned  from  night ; 
The  hills  swung  open  to  the  light; 

Thro*  their  green  gates  the  sunshine  showed 
A  long,  slant  splendor  downward  flowed. 

Down  glade,  and  glen,  and  bank  it  rolled; 
It  bridged  the  shaded  stream  with  gold, 

And,  borne  on  piers  of  mist,  allied 
The  shadowy  with  the  sunlit  side  ! 

"  So,"  prayed  we,  lt  when  our  feet  draw  near 
The  river,  dark  with  mortal  fear, 


Songs   in  Bereavement.  237 

And  the  night  cometh,  chill  with  dew, 
O  Father  !  let  thy  light  break  through  ! 

So  let  the  hills  of  doubt  divide, 

So  bridge  with  faith  the  sunless  tide  ! 

So  let  the  eyes  that  fail  on  earth 
On  Thy  eternal  hills  look  forth ; 

And,  in  Thy  beckoning  angeis,  know 
The  dear  ones  whom  we  loved  below  !  " 

Whittier. 


ONCE,  in  the  twilight  of  a  wintry  day, 
One  passed  me  silent,  struggling  on  his  way, 
With  head  bowed  low,  and  hands  that  burdens  bore, 
And  saw  not  how,  a  little  space  before, 

A  woman  watched  his  coming,  where  the  light 
Poured  a  glad  welcome  through  a  window  bright, 
Set  thick  with  flowers  that  showed  no  fairer  bloom 
Than  her  sweet  face,  turned  outward  to  the  gloom. 

Yet  when  his  foot,  with  quick,  impatient  stride, 
But  touched  the  step,  the  door  swung  open  wide, 
Soft  hands  reached  swiftly  out,  with  eager  hold, 
And  drew  the  dear  one  in  from  storm  and  cold. 


238  Songs  in  Bereavement. 

O  love  !  whose  eyes,  from  some  celestial  height, 
Behold  me  toiling,  burdened  through  the  night, 
Tender  of  every  blast  at  which  I  cower, 
Yet  smiling  still,  to  know  how  brief  the  hour ; 

Keeping  within  thy  radiant,  love-lit  home, 
Some  glad  surprise  to  whisper  when  I  come— 
Tis  but  a  breath  till  I  the  door  shall  win, 
And  thy  dear  hands  will  swiftly  draw  me  in  ! 

Emily  Huntingdon  Miller. 


SOULS  that  of  His  own  good  life  partake, 
He  loves  as  His  own  self ;  dear  as  His  eye 
They  are  to  Him  :  He'll  never  them  forsake  : 
When  they  shall  die,  then  God  Himself  shall  die: 
They  live,  they  live  in  blest  eternity. 

Henry  More. 


Now  I  need  not  fear  for  thee, 

Where  thou  art,  all  is  well  ; 
For  thou  thy  Father's  face  doth  see, 

With  Jesus  thou  dost  dwell  ! 
Yes,  cloudless  joys  around  him  shine, 
His  heart  shall  never  ache  like  mine  ; 
He  sees  the  radiant  armies  glow 
That  keep  and  guide  us  here  below. 


Stfttgs  in  Bereavement.  239 

He  hears  their  singing  evermore, 

His  little  voice  too  sings, 
He  drinks  of  wisdom  deepest  love, 

He  speaks  of  secret  things, 
That  we  can  never  see  or  know 
Howe'er  we  seek  or  strive  below, 
While  yet  amid  the  mists  we  stand 
That  veil  this  dark  and  tearful  land. 

O  that  I  could  but  watch  afar, 

And  hearken  but  awhile 
To  that  sweet  song  that  hath  no  jar, 

And  see  his  heavenly  smile. 
As  he  doth  praise  the  holy  God 
Who  made  him  pure  for  that  abode  ! 
In  tears  of  joy  full  well  I  know 
This  burdened  heart  would  overflow. 

And  I  should  say  :  Stay  here,  my  son, 

My  wild  laments  are  o'er, 
O  well  for  thee  that  thou  hast  won, 

I  call  thee  back  no  more, 
But  come,  thou  fiery  chariot,  come  ! 
And  bear  me  swiftly  to  thy  home, 
Where  he  with  many  a  loved  one  dwells, 
And  evermore  of  gladness  tells. 

Then  be  it  as  my  Father  wills, 

I  will  not  weep  for  thee  ; 
Thou  livest,  joy  thy  spirit  fills 

Pure  sunshine  thou  dost  see, 


240  Gongs  in  Bereavement. 

The  sunshine  of  eternal  rest ; 

Abide  my  child  where  thou  art  blest; 

I  with  our  friends  will  onward  fare, 

And  when  God  wills,  shall  find  thee  there. 

Paul  Gerhardt,  1650. 


I   HAVE  no  moan  to  make, 
No  bitter  tears  to  shed  ; 
No  heart,  that  for  rebellious  grief 
Will  not  be  comforted. 


There  is  no  friend  of  mine 
Laid  in  the  earth  to  sleep, — 

No  grave  so  green  or  heaped  afresh 
By  which  I  stand  and  weep. 

Though  some,  whose  presence  once 
Sweet  comfort  'round  me  shed, 

Here  in  the  body  walk  no  more 
The  way  that  I  must  tread. 

Not  they,  but  what  they  wore 
Went  to  the  house  of  fear, — 

They,  were  the  incorruptible, 
They  left  corruption  here. 


Songs  in  Rzxtavzmznl.  241 


The  veil  of  flesh  that  hid, 

Is  softly  drawn  aside, 
More  clearly  I  behold  them  now 

Than  those  who  never  died. 

Who  died  !  what  means  that  word, 
Of  men  so  much  abhorred  ? 

Caught  up  in  clouds  of  heaven  to  be 
Forever  with  the  Lord  ! 

To  give  this  body,  racked 
With  mortal  ills  and  cares, 

For  one  as  glorious  and  as  fair 
As  our  Redeemer  wears. 

To  leave  our  shame  and  sin, 

Our  hunger  and  disgrace  ; 
To  come  unto  ourselves,  to  turn 

And  find  our  Father's  face. 

To  run,  to  leap,  to  walk  ; — 

To  quit  our  beds  of  pain  ; 
And  live  where  the  inhabitants 

Are  never  sick  again. 

To  sit  no  longer  dumb, 

Nor  halt  nor  blind  ;  to  rise; 

To  praise  the  Healer  with  our  tongue, 
And  see  Him  with  our  eyes. 


242  Songs  in  Jizxzavzrtitnt. 

To  leave  cold  winter  snows, 

And  burning  summer  heats  ; 
And  walk  in  soft,  white,  tender  light, 

About  the  golden  streets. 

Thank  God  for  all  my  loved 

That,  out  of  pain  and  care, 
Have  safely  reached  the  heavenly  nights. 

And  stay  to  meet  me  there  ! 

Not  these  I  mourn,  I  know 

Their  joy  by  faith  sublime — 
But  for  myself,  that  still  below 

Must  wait  my  appointed  time. 

Phcebe  Cary. 


GOOD  night  !  good  night  !  as  we  so  oft  have  said 
Beneath  this  roof  at  midnight,  in  the  days 
That  are  no  more,  and  shall  no  more  return, 
Thou  has  but  taken  thy  lamp  and  gone  to  bed  ; 
I  stay  a  little  longer,  as  one  stays 
To  cover  up  the  embers  that  still  burn. 

Longfellow. 


IT  sometimes  happens  that  two  friends  will  meet, 
And,  with  a  smile  and  touch  of  hands,  again 
Go  on  their  way  along  the  noisy  street. 
Each  is  so  sure  of  all  the  friendship  sweet, 

The  loving  silence  gives  no  thought  of  pain. 


Songs  in  Btxtavtmtnl.  243 

And  so,  I  think,  those  friends  whom  we  call  dead 

Are  with  us.     It  may  be  some  quiet  hour, 
Or  time  of  busy  work  for  hand  or  head — 
Their  love  fills  all  the  heart  that  missed  them  so. 

They  bring  a  sweet  assurance  of  the  life 
Serene,  above  the  worry  that  we  know  ; 

And  we  grow  braver  for  the  comfort  brought. 
Why  should  we  mourn  because  they  do  not  speak 

Our  words  that  lie  so  far  below  their  thought  ? 

Sunday  Afternoon. 


WHAT  to  shut  eyes  has  God  revealed  ? 
What  hear  the  ears  that  death  has  sealed  ? 
What  undreamed  beauty,  passing  show, 
Requites  the  loss  of  all  we  know  ? 

O  silent  land,  to  which  we  move, 
Enough  if  there  alone  be  love  ; 
And  mortal  need  can  ne'er  outgrow 
What  it  is  waiting  to  bestow  ! 

O  white  soul  !  from  that  far-off  shore 
Float  some  sweet  song  the  waters  o'er ; 
Our  faith  confirm,  our  fears  dispel, 
With  the  old  voice  we  loved  so  well  ! 

Whittier. 


244  Songs  in  BtvzavtmzrtU 

I   SIT  beside  the  sea  this  autumn  day, 
When  sky  and  tide  are  ravishingly  blue, 
And  melt  into  each  other.     Down  the  bay, 
The  stately  ships  drift  by  so  still  and  slow, 
That  on  the  horizon's  verge  I  scarce  may  know 
Which  be  the  sails  along  the  wave  that  glow, 

And  which  the  clouds  that  float  the  azure  through. 


From  beds  of  golden-rod  and  asters,  steal 

The  south  winds,  soft  as  any  breath  of  May  ; 
High  in  the  sunny  air  the  white  gulls  wheel, 
As  noiseless  as  the  clouds  they  poise  below; 
And  in  the  hush  the  white  waves  come  and  go, 
As  if  a  spell  entranced  them,  and  their  flow 
Echoed  the  beat  of  oceans  far  away. 


O  loved  and  lost !  can  you  not  stoop  to  me 

This  perfect  morn,   when   heaven   and   earth  are 
one  ? 
The  south  winds  breathe  of  you  ;  I  only  see 
(Alas  the  vision  swTeet  can  naught  avail  ! ) 
Your  image  in  the  cloud,  the  wave,  the  sail  ; 
And  heed  nor  calm,  nor  storm,  nor  bliss  nor  bale, 
Remembering  you  have  gone  beyond  the  sun. 


One  look  into  your  eyes;  one  clasp  of  hands: 
One  murmured,  "  Lo  I  love  you  as  before  ;n 
And  I  would  give  you  to  your  viewless  lands 


Songs  in  Bereavement.  245 

And  wait  my  time,  with  never  tear  or  sigh ; — 
But  not  a  whisper  comes  from  earth  or  sky, 
And  the  sole  answer  to  my  yearning  cry, 
Is  the  faint  wash  of  waves  alonsr  the  shore. 


Lord,  dost  Thou  see  how  dread  a  thing  is  death  ? 

When  silence  such  as  this  is  all  it  leaves  ? 
To  watch  in  agony  the  parting  breath 
Till  the  fond  eyes  are  closed,  the  dear  voice  still, 
And  know  that  not  the  wildest  prayer  can  thrill 
Thee,  to  awake  them,  but  our  grief  must  fill 

Alike  the  rosy  morns,  the  rainy  eves. 

Ah  !     Thou  dost  see;   and  not  a  pang  is  vain  ! — 

Some  joy  of  every  anguish  must  be  born  ; 
Else  this  one  planet's  weight  of  loss  and  pain 
Would  stay  the  stars  in  sympathetic  woe, 
And  make  the  suns  move  pale  and  cold  and  slow, 
Till  all  was  black  and  void,  the  throne  below, 
And  night  shut  down  without  a  gleam  of  morn. 

But  mark  !     The  sun  goes  radiant  to  his  goal 
While  winds  make  music  on  the  laughing  sea  ; 

And  with  his  set,  the  starry  host  will  roll 

Celestial  splendors  over  mead  and  main  ; 

Lord,  can  Thy  worlds  be  glad  and  death  enchain  ? 

Nay  !  'tis  but  crowning  for  immortal  reign 
In  the  pure  realm  where  all  abide  with  thee. 


246  Songs  in  ftzxzavzmtnt. 

What  star  has  seen  the  sun  at  cloudless  noon  ! 

What  chrysalis  knows  aught  of  wings  that  soar  ? 
O  blessed  souls  !  how  can  I  hope  the  boon 
Of  look  or  word  from  you,  the  glorified, 
Until  for  me  the  shining  gates  swing  wide  ? — 
Welcome  the  day  when  the  great  deeps  divide, 

And  we  are  one,  in  life  forever  more. 

Edena  Deax  Proctor. 


WOULD  that  I  too  were  lying 
Beneath  the  churchyard  sod 
With  my  limbs  at  rest  in  the  green  earth's  breast, 
And  my  soul  at  home  with  God." 

I  never  lay  me  down  to  sleep  at  night 

But  in  my  heart  I  sing  that  little  song  : 

The  angels  hear  it,  as  a  pitying  throng, 

They  touch  my  burning  lids  with  fingers,  bright 

As  moonbeams,  pale,  impalpable,  and  light; 

And  when  my  daily  pious  tasks  are  done, 

And  all  my  patient  prayers  said  one  by  one, 

God  hears  it.     Seems  it  sinful  in  his  sight 

That  round  my   slow    burnt    offering,  of  quenched 

will, 
One  quivering  human  sigh  creeps,  wind-like,  still  ? 


Songs  in  Bereavement.  247 

That  when  my  orisons  celestial  fail 
Rises  one  note  of  natural  human  wail  ? 

Ere  long 
I  trust  God  will  forgive  my  singing  that  poor  song. 

A  year  ago  I  bade  a  little  one 

Bear  upon  pilgrimage  a  heavy  load 

Of  alms  ;   he  cried,  half  fainting  on  the  road, 

"  Weary,  O  weary,  would  the  day  were  done  !  " 

Him  I  reproved  with  tears,  and  said,  "Go  on  ! 

Xor  pause,  nor  murmur  till  thy  task  be  o'er — " 

Would  not  God  say  the  same  to  me,  and  more  ? 

I  will  not  sing  that  song  !     Thou  dearest  one, 

Stretch  thy  steadfast  hand 

And  let  mine  grasp  it.     Now  I  also,  stand, 
My  woman  weakness  nerved  to  strength  like  thine  ; 
We'll  quaff  life's  aloe-cup  as  if  'twere  wine 
Each  to  the  other;  journeying  on  apart, 
Till  at  heaven's  golden  doors  we  two  leap  heart  to 
heart. 

Jean  Ingelow. 


THEY  never  quite  leave  us — the  friends  who  have 
passed 
Through  the  shadows  of  death  to  the  sunlight  above ; 
A  thousand  sweet  memories  are  holding  them  fast 
To  the  places  they  blessed  with  their  presence  and 
love. 


248  Songs  in  Jicxtavtmznt. 

The  work  which  they  left  and  the  books  which  they 
read 
Speak  mutely,  though  still  with  an  eloquence  rare, 
And  the  songs  that  they  sung,  and  dear  words  they 
said, 
Still  linger  and  sigh  on  the  desolate  air. 


And  oft  when  alone,  and  as  oft  in  the  throng 
Or  when  evil  allures  us,  or  sin  draweth  nigh, 

A  whisper  comes  gently,  "  Nay,  do  not  the  wrong," 
And  we  feel  that  our  weakness  is  pitied  on  high. 


In  the  dew-threaded  morn  and  the  opaline  eve, 
When  the  children  are  merry,  or  crimsoned  with 
sleep, 

We  are  comforted,  even  as  lonely  we  grieve, 

For  the  thought  of  their  rapture  forbids  us  to  weep. 


We  toil  at  our  task  in  the  burden  and  heat 

Of  life's  passionate  noon.    They  are  folded  in  peace. 

It  is  well.     We  rejoice  that  their  heaven  is  sweet, 
And  one  day  for  us  all  the  bitter  will  cease. 

We,  too,  will  go  home  o'er  the  river  of  rest 

As  the  strong  and  the  lovely  before  us  have  gone. 

Our  sun  will  go  down  in  the  beautiful  west, 
To  rise  in  the  glory  that  circles  the  throne. 


Songs  in  Bereavement.  249 

Until  then  we  are  bound  by  our  love  and  our  faith 
To  the  saints  who  are  walking  in  Paradise  fair  : 
They  have  passed  beyond  sight,  at  the  touching  of 
death, 
But  they  live  like  ourselves,  in  God's  infinite  care. 

Margaret  E.  Sangster. 


OH,  blessed  are  the  dead  ! 
Why  will  we  mourn  for  them  ? 
No  more  the  stormy  billows  here 

With  weary  heart  they  stem  ! 
No  more  they  struggle  here  below 
To  guide,  through  many  a  gulf  of  woe, 

Their  being's  fragile  bark  ; 
But  harbored  in  eternal  rest, 
By  far-off  islands  of  the  blest, 
Calm  on  a  sunlit  ocean's  breast, 

Anchor  their  fearless  ark. 

Seem  they  to  sleep  ?  'tis  but  as  sleeps 

The  seed  within  the  earth, 
To  burst  forth  to  the  brilliant  morn 

Of  a  more  glorious  birth  ; 
Seem  they  to  feel  no  breath  of  love 
That  o'er  their  icy  brow  will  move 

With  tearful  whispers  warm  ? 


250  Songs  in  Bereavement. 

'Tis  that  upon  their  spirit's  ear 
All  Heaven's  triumphant  music  clear 
Is  bursting,  where  there  comes  not  near 
One  tone  of  sorrow's  storm  ! 


Oh  !  give  them  up  to  Him,  whose  own 

Those  dear  redeemed  ones  are  ! 

Lo  !  on  their  wakening  souls  He  breaks 

'  The  bright  and  morning  star  ! ' 
His  are  they  now,  for  evermore, — 
The  mystery  and  the  conflict  o'er, 

The  Eternal  City  won  ! 
As  conquerors  let  them  pass  and  go 
Up  from  the  fight  of  faith  below, 
The  peace  of  God  at  last  to  know 

In  kingdoms  of  the  sun  ! 

Eliza  Mary  Hamilton. 


Q  TILL  always  groweth  in  me  the  great  wonder, 
O  When  all  the  fields  are  blushing  like  the  dawn, 
And  only  one  poor  little  flower  ploughed  under, 
That  I  can  see  no  flowers,  that  one  being  gone  : 
No  flower  of  all,  because  of  one  being  gone. 


Sengs  in  Bereavement.  251 

Aye,  ever  in  me  groweth  the  great  wonder, 
When  all  the  hills  are  shining,  white  and  red, 

And  only  one  poor  little  flower  ploughed  under, 
That  it  were  all  as  one  if  all  were  dead. 


I  cannot  feel  the  beauty  of  the  roses  ; 

Their  soft  leaves  seem  to  me  but  layers  of  dust  ; 

Out  of  my  opening  hand  each  blessing  closes  : 
Nothing  is  left  me  but  my  hope  and  trust, 
Nothing  but  heavenly  hope  and  heavenly  trust. 

I  get  no  sweetness  of  the  sweetest  places  ; 

My  house,  my  friends  no  longer  comfort  me  ; 
Strange  somehow  grow  the  old  familiar  faces  ; 

For  I  can  nothing  have,  not  having  thee. 

Having,  I  have  them  not — strange  contradiction  ! 
Heaven  needs  must  cast  its  shadow  on  our  earth ; 

Yea,  drown  us  in  the  waters  of  affliction 

Breast  high,  to  make  us  know  our  treasure's  worth, 
To  make  us  know  how  much  our  love  is  worth. 


And  while  I  mourn,  the  anguish  of  my  story 

Breaks,  as  the  wave  breaks  on  the  hindering  bar : 

Thou  art  but  hidden  in  the  deeps  of  glory, 
Even  as  the  sunshine  hides  the  lessening  star. 
And  with  true  love,  I  love  thee  from  afar. 


252  Songs  in  Serecmement. 

I  know  our  Father  must  be  good,  not  evil, 
And  murmur  not,  for  faith's  sake,  at  my  ill ; 

Nor  at  the  mystery  of  the  working  cavil, 

That  somehow  bindeth  all  things  in  His  will, 
And,   though  He  slay  me,   makes  me  trust  Him 
still. 

Alice  Cary. 


SAYING,  "  There  is  no  hope,"  he  stepped 
A  little  from  our  side  and  passed 
To  hope  eternal.     At  the  last, 
Crying,  "  There  is  no  rest,"  he  slept. 


A  sweeter  spirit  ne'er  drew  breath  ; 

Strange  grew  the  chill  upon  the  air, 
But  as  he  murmured,  "  This  is  death," 

Lo  !  life  itself  did  meet  him  there. 


He  loved  the  Will  ;  he  did  the  deed. 

Such  love  shall  live.     Such  doubt  is  dust. 
He  served  the  truth  ;  he  missed  the  creed. 

Trust  him  to  God.     Dear  is  the  trust. 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 


Songs  in  Bereavement.  253 

STRANGE,  strange  for  thee  and  me, 
Sadly  afar  ; 
Thou  safe  beyond,  above, 

I  'neath  the  star; 
Thou  where  flowers  deathless  spring, 

I  where  they  fade  ; 
Thou  in  God's  paradise, 

I  'mid  time's  shade  ! 

Thou  where  each  gale  breathes  balm, 

I  tempest  tossed ; 
Thou  where  true  joy  is  found, 

I  where  'tis  lost  ; 
Thou  counting  ages  thine, 

I  not  the  morrow  ; 
Thou  learning  more  of  bliss, 

I  more  of  sorrow. 

Thou  in  eternal  peace, 

I  'mid  earth's  strife  ; 
Thou  where  care  hath  no  name, 

I  where  'tis  life  ; 
Thou  without  need  of  hope, 

I  where  'tis  vain  ; 
Thou  with  wings  dropping  light, 

I  with  time's  chain. 

Strange,  strange  for  thee  and  me, 

Loved,  loving  ever  ; 
Thou  by  Life's  deathless  fount, 

I  near  Death's  river  ; 


254  Songs  in  ftextavtmtni. 

Thou  winning-  Wisdom's  love, 
I  strength  to  trust  ; 

Thou  'mid  the  seraphim, 
I  in  the  dust  ! 


Phcebe  Cary. 


SHE  shut  the  door  and  turned  away, 
Some  task  was  waiting  for  her  hand  : 
She  shut  another  door,  where  lay 

Her  sweet  dead  hope, — you  understand  ? 
"  And  they  shall  weep  no  more,"  God  saith. 
"  Nor  taste  of  pain."    Oh,  Life  !  Oh,  Death  ! 

Hattie  Tyng  Griswold. 


G 


O  not  far  in  the  land  of  light  ! 


A  little  while  by  the  golden  gate, 
Lest  that  I  lose  you  out  of  sight, 
Wait,  my  darling,  wait. 

Forever  now  from  your  happy  eyes 
Life's  scenic  picture  has  passed  away; 

You  have  entered  into  realities, 
And  I  am  yet  at  the  play  ! 


Songs  in  Bereavement.  255 

But  the  last  sad  act  is  drawing  on  ; 

A  little  while  by  the  golden  gate 
Of  the  holy  heaven  to  which  you  are  gone, 

Wait,  my  darling,  wait. 

Alice  Cary. 


THERE'S   not  an  hour  but  from  some  sparkling 
beach 
Go  joyful  men,  in  fragile  ships,  to  sail 
By  unknown  seas  to  unknown  lands.     They  hail 
The  freshening  winds  with  eager  hope  and  speech 
Of  wondrous  countries  which  they  soon  will  reach. 
Left  on  the  shore,  we  wave  our  hands,  with  pale, 
Wet  cheeks,  but  hearts  that  are  ashamed  to  quail 
Or  own  the  grief  which  selfishness  would  teach. 
Oh  !  Death,  the  fairest  lands  beyond  thy  sea 
Lie  waiting,  and  thy  barks  are  swift  and  stanch 
And  ready.     Why  do  we  reluctant  launch  ? 
And  when  our  friends  their  heritage  have  claimed 
Of  thee,  and  entered  on  it,  rich  and  tree, 
Oh  !  why  of  sorrow  are  we  not  ashamed  ? 

Helen  Jackson. 


IF,  as  we  dream,  in  every  radiant  star 
We  see  a  shining  gate  through  which  the  soul 
In  its  degrees  of  being,  will  ascend — 
If,  when  these  weary  organs  drop  away 


256  Songs  in  Bereavement. 

We  shall  forget  their  uses  and  commune 
With  angels  and  each  other,  as  the  stars 
Mingle  their  light  in  silence  and  in  love — 
What  is  this  fleshly  fetter  of  a  day 
That  we  should  bind  it  with  immortal  flowers  ! 
How  do  we  ever  gaze  upon  the  sky, 
And  watch  the  lark  soar  up  till  he  is  lost, 
And  turn  to  our  poor  perishing  dreams  away, 
Without  one  tear  for  our  imprisoned  wings  ! 

N.  P.  Willis. 


XII. 


SONGS  IN  DEATH. 


"  Shall  we  follow  the  Hand  that  guides  us  on  our  long 
unknown  journey,  with  less  of  gladness  and  confident 
trust  than  the  birds  who  cross  leagues  of  sea  guided  by 
the  same  Hand  ?  " 

"  To  pass  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  is 
the  way  home." 

"  As  in  this  life  we  woke  into  consciousness  in  the  arms 
of  friends,  so  we  may  venture  to  hope  that  our  next  wak- 
ing will  be  bosomed  by  that  Eternal  Love  which  provided 
for  this  shelter  here. " 


SONGS   IN    DEATH. 


"  How  are  the  dead  raised  up,  and  with  what  body  do  they 
come? " 


THE  waves,  they  are  wildly  heaving 
And  bearing  me  out  from  the  shore, 
And  I  know  of  the  things  I  am  leaving, 

But  not  of  the  things  before. 
O  Lord  of  Love,  whom  the  shape  of  a  dove 

Came  down  and  hovered  o'er, 
Descend  to-night  with  heavenly  light, 
And  show  me  the  farther  shore. 


There  is  midnight  darkness  o'er  me, 

And  'tis  light,  more  light,  I  crave  ; 
The  billows  behind  and  before  me 

Are  gaping  each  with  a  grave  ; 
Descend  to-night,  O  Lord  of  might, 

Who  died  our  souls  to  save ; 
Descend  to-night,  my  Lord,  my  Light, 

And  walk  with  me  on  the  wave  ! 


260  Songs  in  JDectfl). 

My  heart  is  heavy  to  breaking 

Because  of  the  mourners'  sighs, 
For  they  cannot  see  the  awak'ning 

Nor  the  body  with  which  we  arise. 
Thou,  who  for  sake  of  men  didst  break 

The  awful  seal  of  the  tomb — 
Show  them  the  way  into  life,  I  pray, 

And  the  body  with  which  we  come  ! 

Comfort  their  pain  and  pining 

For  the  nearly  wasted  sands, 
With  the  many  mansions  shining 

In  the  house  not  made  with  hands: 
And  help  them  by  faith  to  see  through  death 

To  that  brighter  and  better  shore, 
Where  they  never  shall  weep  who  are  fallen  asleep, 

And  never  be  sick  any  more. 

Alice  Cary. 


"  Break,  O  Morning-  of  the  Everlasting  Day  !  " 

SEE  how  the  far  east  brightens  ! 
Hear  ye  the  angels  singing, 
Through  morning's  fresh'ning  breath  ? 
No  darkness  longer  frightens  : 
Now,  rich  with  mercy,  bringing 
Your  help,  comes  gracious  Death. 


Songs  in  EDeatl).  261 

Then  give  him  friendly  greeting, 
He  will  be  friendly  too, 
And  bring,  each  joy  completing, 
His  olden  bliss  to  you. 


To  him — whose  near  end  stealing 

Through  heart  and  limb  presages  night, — 

Who  kneeling, 

Who  kneeling,  sure  appealing, 

Turns  soul  and  hands 

Where  Mercy  stands, 

The  Lord  will  make  it  light. 

Tr.Jrom  Fouque,  by  Andrews. 


1AM  going  away,  dear  friend, 
Away  to  a  brighter  land  ; 
And  even  now,  as  the  shadows  fall, 
I  wait  the  voice  of  the  Angel's  call 

And  the  touch  of  the  Angel's  hand. 


The  way  hath  been  long,  dear  friend, 

Weary  and  long  and  lone  ; 
And  oh  !  the  pain  of  the  wounded  heart, 
The  silent  pang  and  the  secret  smart  ! 
May  they  never  to  thee  be  known. 


262  Songs  in  ?Beatl}. 

Yet  bright  was  the  prospect,  friend, 

When  the  path  before  me  lay  ; 
When  love's  sweet  blossoms  were  round  my  feet, 
And  the  far-off  future  lay  clear  and  sweet 

In  the  flush  of  rising-  day. 

Oh  !  beautiful  dreams  of  youth  ! 

Oh  !  visions  that  fade  so  soon  ! 
And  oh  !  the  desolate,  dreary  way, 
When  back  we  look  through  the  darkened  day 

To  the  sun  that  set  ere  noon. 

But  the  journey  at  last  is  o'er 

And  the  struggle  and  toil  are  past  ; 
And  the  holy  angels  who  led  me  on 
Till  the  fight  was  fought  and  the  victory  won, 
They  have  brought  me  home  at  last. 

Home,  to  an  endless  rest  ; 

Home  to  my  Father — God  ; 
And  I  bless  his  name,  that  through  wrong  and  loss, 
I  have  borne  the  weight  of  the  iron  cross, 

And  the  thorny  path  have  trod. 

Oh  !  sweet  is  the  thought  and  strange, 

That  so  near  unto  Him  I  stand  ; 
That  ere  the  shadows  of  night  shall  close 
I  shall  drink  of  the  River  of  Life  that  flows 

In  the  beautiful  Spirit  Land  ! 


Songs  in   Deatl).  263 

That  my  mother's  hand  I  shall  clasp 
And  my  father's  smile  shall  see  ; 
And  oh  !  the  thrill  of  the  glad  surprise 
When  I  meet  the  gaze  of  the  dearest  eyes 
That  ever  gleamed  on  me  ! 


I  know  they  are  near  me  now  ; 

I  know  that  they  stand  and  wait  ; 
And  I  feel  the  flush  of  a  love  divine, 
And  a  light  as  of  heaven  about  me  shine 

As  I  kneel  at  the  golden  gate. 

And  lo  !  the  gates  ajar, 

And  the  light  of  immortal  day  ! 
I  see  the  angels  ;  I  hear  their  call ; 
And  earth  falls  back  like  a  gloomy  pall, 

As  they  bear  my  soul  away  ! 

Susan  Archer  Weiss. 


AT  evening  time  let  there  be  light  : 
Life's  little  day  draws  near  its  close  ; 
Around  me  fall  the  shades  of  night, 

The  night  of  death,  the  grave's  repose  : 
To  crown  my  joys,  to  end  my  woes, 
At  evening  time  let  there  be  light. 


264  Songs  in  fflzall). 

Stormy  and  dark  hath  been  my  day, 
Yet  rose  the  morn  divinely  bright  ; 

Dews,  birds  and  blossoms  cheered  the  way  ; 

Oh,  for  one  sweet,  one  parting-  ray  ! 
At  evening  time  there  shall  be  light  ; 

For  God  hath  spoken — it  must  be  : 

Fear,  doubt  and  anguish,  take  their  flight, 

His  glory  now  is  risen  on  me  ! 

Mine  eyes  shall  his  salvation  see  : 

— Tis  evening  time,  and  there  is  light ! 

James  Montgomery. 


As  one  who  peers 
Into  the  dark  bewildered,  and  descries 
A  guiding  lamp  within  the  casement  set, 
Knowing  it  homeward  leads  his  weary  feet, 
So  I,  with  yearning  heart  and  wistful  eyes, 
As  in  a  vision  wonderful  and  sweet, 

Beyond  the  grave,  behold  it  shining  yet. 

Archbishop  Laighton. 


SHE  said  :  "  I  am  come  to  heaven  at  last, 
And  I'll  do  as  the  blessed  do  !  " 
But  the  custom  of  earth  was  stronger  than  Heaven, 

And  the  habit  of  life  than  death, — 
How  should  anguish  as  old  as  thought 
Be  healed  by  the  end  of  breath  ? 


Scmgs  in   CDeath.  265 


Tissue  and  nerve  and  pulse  of  her  soul 
Had  absorbed  the  disease  of  woe. 

The  strangest  of  all  the  angels  there 
Was  Joy  (Oh  the  wretched  know  !) 


11  I  must  learn  to  be  happy  in  heaven,"  she  said, 
"  As  we  harried  to  suffer  below." — 


But  the  saddest  spirit  in  the  world 
Came  to  herself  at  last. 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 


So  let  us  die  ; 
Yield  up  our  little  lives  as  the  flowers  do; 
Believing  He'll  not  lose  one  single  soul, — 
One  germ  of  his  immortal.     Naught  of  His 
Or  Him  can  perish  ;  therefore  let  us  die. 

Miss  Mulock. 


LOOK  above  thee — never  eye 
-/     Saw  such  pleasures  as  await  thee  ; 
Thought  ne'er  reached  such  scenes  of  joy 


266  Songs  in  JBecitl). 

As  are  there  prepared  to  meet  thee  ; 
Light  undying,  seraph's  lyres, 
Angel  welcomes,  cherub  choirs, 

Smiling  through  heaven's  doors  to  greet  thee. 

BOWRING. 


1HEAR  a  voice  you  cannot  hear, 
Which  says  I  must  not  stay; 
I  see  a  hand  you  cannot  see, 
Which  beckons  me  away. 


TlCKELL. 


What  is  that,  we  call  death  ? 
Is  it  to  drop  with  all  our  hopes  and  fears 
Down  to  the  silence  of  eternal  years, 

When  ends  this  laboring  breath  ? 
To  have  no  part  in  all  this  wondrous  whole, 
While  suns  shall  rise  and  starry  heavens  roll  ? 

Is  this,  what  men  call  death  ? 


Hear  what  the  Master  saith  : — 
"  My  father's  house  has  mansions  large  and  fair, 
Where  happy  souls  released  from  earthly  care. 


Songs  in  $3cat\).  267 

Shall  breathe  in  heavenly  breath  ; 
So  hence  I  go  to  make  for  you  a  place, 
To  come  again  and  bring  you  face  to  face, 

No  more  to  taste  of  death." 

The  ransomed  of  the  Lord 
On  Zion's  clear  and  holy  heights  shall  tread, 
With  everlasting  joy  upon  their  head, 

And  songs  in  full  accord  ; 
Here  joy  and  gladness  ever  shall  remain, 
While  far  behind  them  lie  the  realms  of  pain  : 

God's  last  and  grand  reward. 

Increase  N.  Tarbox. 


REACH  down  the  wanderer's  staff, 
Tie  on  the  sandals  on  the  traveler's  feet; 
The  wan-eyed  moon  weeps  in  the  watery  east; 
Gird  up  the  loins  and  let  me  now  depart ! 

Frances  Ke.mble  Butler. 


UNTO  Him  who  washed  us 
Whiter  than  snow 
We  shall  pass  through  the  shallow  river 
With  hearts  a^low. 


268  Songs  in  EDeatf). 

For  the  Lord's  voice  on  the  water 

Lingereth  sweet, 
"  He  that  is  washed,  needeth  only 

To  wash  his  feet  !  " 

B.  M. 


EARTH,  with  its  dark  and  dreadful  ills, 
Recedes  and  fades  away  ; 
Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  heavenly  hills : 
Ye  gates  of  death,  give  way  ! 

My  soul  is  full  of  whispered  song  ; 

My  blindness  is  my  sight  ; 
The  shadows  that  I  feared  so  long 

Are  all  alive  with  light. 

The  while  my  pulses  faintly  beat, 

My  faith  doth  so  abound, 
I  feel  grow  firm  beneath  my  feet 

The  green,  immortal  ground. 

That  faith  to  me  a  courage  gives 

Low  as  the  grave  to  go  : 
I  know  that  my  Redeemer  lives, — 

That  I  shall  live  I  know. 

Alice  Cary, 


Songs  in  Deatl).  269 

CLOSE,  close,  beloved  mine, 
Around  my  heart  entwine, 
In  Love's  strong  clasping,  as  I  hold  thee,  so. 
Above  the  sky  that  leans 
Over  these  deathfu'  scenes 
To  Him,  the  Eternal  Life  and  Love,  we  go. 


VITAL  spark  of  heavenly  flame  ! 
Quit,  O  quit  this  mortal  frame  ! 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying, 
O  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying  ! 
Cease  fond  Nature,  cease  thy  strife, 
Let  me  languish  into  life  ! 

Hark!  they  whisper;  angels  say- 
Sister  spirit,  come  away  ! 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite  ? 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ? 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes:  it  disappears! 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes  !  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring: 
Lend,  lend  your  wings!     I  mount!     I  fly! 
O  Grave  !  where  is  thy  victor 

O  Death  !  where  is  thy  stii. 

Alexander  Pope, 


270  Songs  in  SDeail). 

OH,  what  will  be  that  life  to  come 
Beyond  this  vale  of  tears 
To  which  we  pass  full  soon  ? 

What  will  it  be  ?     Oh,  tell  me  pray, 
So  that  my  fears  may  pass  away. 


Oh,  in  that  life  which  is  to  come 
Will  there  be  pain  as  now  ? 

Will  hearts  there  ache  as  they  do  here, 
Will  souls  with  burdens  bow  ? 

Oh,  would  that  I  might  know  full  well 

Ere  to  that  land  I  go  to  dwell. 


Oh,  in  that  life  which  is  to  come 

Will  there  be  joy  supreme, 
And  on  my  path  from  day  to  day 

Will  light  effulgent  stream  ? 
Will  flowers  bloom  with  fragrance  sweet, 
And  all  sweet  things  my  senses  greet  ? 


Oh,  in  that  life  which  is  to  come 
Shall  I  then  clasp  the  hands 

Of  those  I  knew  and  loved  so  here  ? 
Shall  I  then  join  the  bands 

Of  free  and  happy  souls  above 

Where  all  is  bliss  and  all  is  love  ? 


Gangs  in  ?Dcatt).  271 

And  no  more  parting  will  there  be 

In  that  sweet  life  to  come  ? 
Will  want  and  wandering  ever  end, 

And  shall  we  dwell  at  home 
Within  a  Father's  mansion  grand, 
Protected  by  His  loving  hand  ? 


Oh,  soul  !  there  comes  a  voice  to  thee 

Sounding  the  waters  o'er, 
In  love  it  says,  in  truth  it  says, 

"  Thou  shalt  bear  grief  no  more, 
And  all  thy  tears  be  wiped  away 
When  in  this  land  of  cloudless  day." 


For  in  this  land  no  graves  are  seen, 
No  links  are  snapped  in  twain, 

And  they  that  meet  may  love  for  aye 
And  never  part  again. 

No  sickness,  pain,  or  dying  here, 

No  blighted  buds  or  leaflets  sere. 


Oh,  to  that  land  then  let  me  haste, 

Borne  on  the  wings  of  Time; 
I  long  to  greet  that  happy  land, 

That  blest  immortal  clime, 
Where  I  shall  hear  the  Saviour  say 
The  former  things  are  passed  away. 

G.  W.  Crofts. 


212  Songs  in  Skati). 

THE  sands  of  time  are  sinking, 
The  dawn  of  heaven  breaks, 
The  summer  morn  I've  sighed  for, 

The  fair  sweet  morn  awakes  ! 
Dark,  dark  hath  been  the  midnight, 

But  dayspring  is  at  hand, 
And  glory — glory  dwelleth 
In  Immanuel's  land. 

Oh,  well  it  is  forever  ! 

Oh,  well  for  evermore  ! 
My  nest  hung  in  no  forest 

Of  all  this  death-doomed  shore; 
Yea,  let  the  vain  world  vanish, 

As  from  the  ship  the  strand, 
While  glory — glory  dwelleth 

In  Immanuel's  land. 

I've  wrestled  on  toward  heaven 

'Gainst  storm  and  wind  and  tide: 
Now  like  a  weary  traveler 

That  leaneth  on  his  guide, 
Amid  the  shades  of  evening 

While  sinks  life's  lingering  sand, 
I  hail  the  glory  dawning 

From  Immanuel's  land. 

With  mercy  and  with  judgment 
My  web  of  time  He  .wove, 

And  all  the  dews  of  sorrow 
Were  lustered  with  His  love  : 


Songs  in  JDecitl).  273 

I'll  bless  the  Hand  that  guided, 

I'll  bless  the  Heart  that  planned, 
When  throned  where  glory  dwelleth, 

In  Immanuel's  land. 


TURN  the  Past's  mirror  backward.     Its  shadows 
removed, 
The  dim  confused  mass  becomes  softened,  sublime  : 
I  have  worked — I  have   felt — I    have  lived,    I   have 
loved, 
And  each  was  a  step  towards  the  goal  I  now  climb  : 
Thou,  God,  Thou  sawest  the  good  of  it. 

Miss  Mulock. 


COME  now,  all  ye  terrors  !  sally  ! 
Muster  forth  into  the  valley, 
Where  triumphant  darkness  hovers 
With  a  sable  wing,  that  covers 
Brooding  horror.     Come,  thou  death, 
Let  the  damps  of  thy  dull  breath 
Overshadow  e'en  the  shade, 
And  make  darkness'  self  afraid  ; 
There,  my  feet,  even  there,  doth  find 
Way  for  a  resolved  mind  : 
Still,  my  Shepherd — still,  my  God, 
Thou  art  with  me  ;   still  Thy  rod 


274  Songs  in  JIDeatl). 

And  Thy  staff,  whose  influence 
Gives  direction,  gives  defense. 

Lighting  the  eternities. 

Thence  my  ripe  soul  will  I  breathe 
Warm  into  the  arms  of  Death. 

Richard  Crashaw,  1650. 


LIFE  !  we  have  been  long  together, 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather, 
'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear, 
Perhaps  'twill  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear. 
Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning. 

Say  not  good  night, 

But  in  some  brighter  clime 

Bid  me  good-morning. 

Mrs.  Barbauld. 


ON  a  far  shore  my  land  swam  far  from  my  sight, 
But  I  could  see  familiar,  native  stars  ; 
My  home  was  shut  from  me  by  ocean  bars, 
Yet  home  hung  there  above  me  in  the  night  ; 


Sonqs  in  (Death.  275 


Unchanged  fell  clown  on  me  Orion's  light  ; 
As  always,  Venus  rose,  and  fiery  Mars  ; 
My  own  the  Pleiades  yet,  and  without  jars 

In  wonted  tones,  sang  all  the  heavenly  height ; 

So  when  in  death  from  underneath  my  feet 
Rolls  the  round  world,  I  now  do  see  the  sky 
Of  God's  truth,  burning  yet  familiarly  ; 

My  native  constellations  I  can  greet  ; 
I  lose  the  outer,  not  the  inner  eye, 
The  landscape,  not  the  soul's  stars,  as  I  die. 


Not  in  vain  do  we 
Read  signals  of  grander  destiny, 
And  in  our  exile  pine  for  kingly  state. 
The  sun  is  but  the  shadow  ;  the  unseen 
Is  the  true  light,  and  changeless  and  serene, 
Cheers  our  approach  to  that  mysterious  goal 
Called  death  3  which  is  the  daybreak  of  the  soul. 

Frances  L.  Mace,  in  Independent. 


THE  sufferer  sings— his  end  is  near  ; 
From  sin  and  pain  he  bursts  away, 
Trouble  shall  die  this  very  day  ! 

Tr.  from  Schmolke  by  Gurney. 


276  Songs  in  SDsatf). 

NEVER  think  of  me  as  lying 
By  the  dismal  mold  o'erspread  ; 
But  about  the  soft  white  pillow 
Folded  underneath  my  head, 
And  of  summer  flowers  weaving 

Their  rich  'broidery  o'er  my  bed. 
Think  of  the  immortal  spirit 

Living  up  above  the  sky, 
And  of  how  my  face  is  wearing 

Light  of  immortality  ; 
Looking  earthward,  is  o'erleaning 
The  white  bastion  of  the  sky. 

Phcebe  Cary. 


I    KNOW  not  where  Thine  islands  lift 
Their  fronded  palms  in  air, 
I  only  know  we  cannot  drift 
Beyond  Thy  love  and  care. 


Whittier. 


"  TJ  E  does  well  who  does  his  best  ; 

11    Is  he  weary  ?  let  him  rest." 
Brothers  !     I  have  done  my  best, 
I  am  weary — let  me  rest. 


Songs  in   Deatl).  277 

After  toiling  oft  in  vain, 
Baffled,  yet  to  struggle  fain  ; 
After  toiling  long,  to  gain 
Little  good  with  mickle  pain, 
Let  me  rest.     But  lay  me  low- 
Where  the  hedgeside  roses  blow  ; 
Where  the  little  daisies  grow, 
Where  the  winds  a-Maying  go  ; 
Where  the  footpath  rustics  plod  ; 
Where  the  breeze-bowed  poplars  nod  ; 
Where  the  old  woods  worship  God, 
Where  His  pencil  paints  the  sod  ; 
Where  the  wedded  throstle  sings, 
Where  the  young  bird  tries  his  wings  ; 
Where  the  wailing  plover  swings, 
Near  the  runlet's  rushing  springs  ! 
Where,  at  times,  the  tempest's  roar, 
Shaking  distant  sea  and  shore, 
Still  will  rave  old  Barnsdale  o'er, 
To  be  heard  by  me  no  more  ! 
There,  beneath  the  breezy  west, 
Tired  and  thankful,  let  me  rest, 
Like  a  child  that  sleepeth  best 
On  its  mother's  gentle  breast. 


WHY  weep  ye  for  the  falling 
Of  the  transient  twilight  gloom  ? 
I  am  weary  of  the  journey, 

And  have  come  in  sight  of  home. 


278  Songs   in  EDecitt). 

I  can  see  a  white  procession 
Sweep  melodiously  along, 

And  I  would  not  have  your  mourning 
Drown  the  sweetness  of  their  song. 

The  battle  strife  is  ended ; 

I  have  scaled  the  hindering  wall, 
And  I  am  putting  off  the  armor 

Of  the  soldier — that  is  all  ! 


Would  you  hide  me  from  my  pleasure 
Would  you  hold  me  from  my  rest  ? 

From  my  serving  and  my  waiting 
I  am  called  to  be  a  guest ! 


Of  its  heavy,  hurtful  burdens 
Now  my  spirit  is  released; 

I  am  done  with  fasts  and  scourges, 
And  am  bidden  to  the  feast. 

While  you  see  the  sun  descending, 
W7hile  you  lose  me  in  the  night, 

Lo,  the  heavenly  morn  is  breaking, 
And  my  soul  is  in  the  light. 

I,  from  faith  to  sight  am  rising, 

While  in  deeps  of  doubt  you  sink  ;■ 

Tis  the  glory  that  divides  us, 
Not  the  darkness,  as  you  think. 


res  ? 


Songs   in  Dccrtl).  279 


Then  lift  up  your  drooping  eyelids, 
And  take  heart  of  better  cheer  ; 

Tis  the  cloud  of  coming  spirits 
Makes  the  shadows  that  ye  fear. 

O  they  come  to  bear  me  upward 

To  the  mansions  of  the  sky, 
And  to  change  as  I  am  changing 

Is  to  live,  and  not  to  die. 

Is  to  leave  the  pain,  the  sickness, 

And  the  smiting  of  the  rod, 
And  to  dwell  among  the  angels 

In  the  City  of  our  God. 

Alice  Cary. 


AND  this  is  death  !     Think  you  that  raptured  soul 
Now  walking  humbly  in  the  golden  streets, 
Bearing  the  precious  burden  of  a  love 
Too  great  for  utterance,  or  with  hushed  heart 
Drinking  the  music  of  the  ransomed  throng, 
Counts  death  an  evil  ?  evil,  sickness,  pain, 
Calamity,  or  aught  that  God  prescribed 
To  cure  it  of  its  sin,  and  bring  it  where 
The  healing  hand  of  Christ  might  touch  it  ?     Xo  ! 
He  is  a  man  to-night — a  man  in  Christ. 
This  was  his  childhood,  here  ;  and  as  we  give 


280  Songs  in  JUteatl). 

A  smile  of  wonder  to  the  little  woes 

That  drew  the  tears  from  out  our  own  young  eyes— 

The  kind  corrections  and  severe  constraints 

Imposed  by  those  who  loved  us — so  he  sees 

A  father's  chastisement  in  all  the  ill 

That  filled  his  life  with  darkness  ;  so  he  sees 

In  every  evil  a  kind  instrument 

To  chasten,  elevate,  correct,  subdue, 

And  fit  him  for  that  heavenly  estate — 

Saintship  in  Christ — the  Manhood  Absolute. 

J.  G.  Holland. 


XIII. 
THE  SONG  OF  SONGS 

AND 

"THE   NEW  SONG." 

To  be  sung  Only 
When  the  Night-Songs  are  Past. 


Then  shail  the  Day   dawn,  and  the  Day-star  arise  in 
your  hearts." 

11  And  there  shall  be  no  Ni^ht  there  !  " 


THE    SONG    OF    SONGS. 


ASCEND,  Beloved  to  the  love; 
This  is  the  day  of  days ; 
To-night  the  bridal  song  is  sung, 
To-night  ten  thousand  harps  are  strung 
In  sympathy  with  heart  and  tongue, 
Unto  the  Lamb's  high  praise. 

The  festal  lamps  are  lighting  now, 

In  the  great  marriage  hall ; 
By  angel  hands  the  board  is  spread, 
By  angel  hands  the  sacred  bread 
Is  on  the  golden  table  laid  ; 

The  Kinsr  his  own  doth  call. 


The  gems  are  gleaming  from  the  roof, 

Like  stars  in  night's  round  dome; 
The  festal  wreaths  are  hanging  there, 
The  festal  fragrance  fills  the  air, 
And  flowers  of  heaven  divinely  fair 
Unfold  their  happy  bloom. 


®l)£  Song  of  Songs. 


Long,  long  deferred,  now  come  at  last, 

The  Lamb's  glad  wedding  day  ; 
The  guests  are  gathering  to  the  feast, 
The  seats  in  heavenly  order  placed, 
The  royal  throne  above  the  rest; — 
How  bright  the  new  array. 


Sorrow  and  sighing  are  no  more, 

The  weeping  hours  are  past; 
To-night  the  waiting  will  be  done, 
To-night  the  wedding  robe  put  on, 
The  glory  and  the  joy  begun  ; 
The  crown  has  come  at  last. 


Without,  within,  is  light,  is  light; 

Around,  above,  is  love,  is  love  ; 
We  enter  to  go  out  no  more, 
We  raise  the  song  unsung  before, 
We  doff  the  sackcloth  that  we  wore, 

For  all  is  joy  above. 


Ascend,  Beloved,  to  the  life  ; 

Our  days  of  death  are  o'er; 
Mortality  has  done  its  worst, 
The  fetters  of  the  tomb  are  burst, 
The  last  has  now  become  the  first, 

Forever,  evermore. 


<ElK   Song   of  Songs. 


285 


Ascend,  Beloved,  to  the  feast, 

Make  haste,  thy  day  is  come  ; 
Thrice  blessed  are  they  the  Lamb  doth  call, 
To  share  the  heavenly  festival 
In  the  new  Salem's  palace  halls. 

Our  everlasting-  home. 

Ho  RATI  US  BONAR. 


THE    NEW  SONG. 

ABOVE  the  dissonance  of  Time, 
And  discord  of  its  angry  words, 
I  hear  the  everlasting  chime, 
The  music  of  unjarring-  chords. 

I  bid  it  welcome  ;  and  my  haste 
To  join  it  cannot  brook  delay; — 

O  song  of  morning-,  come  at  last, 
And  ye  who  sing  it,  come  away  ! 

O  song  of  light,  and  dawn,  and  bliss, 

Sound  over  earth,  and  fill  these  skies, 

Nor  ever,  ever,  ever  cease, 

Thy  soul  entrancing  melodies. 

HORATIUS    BONAR. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


Above  the  dissonance  of  time 

Across  the  field  of  daily  work . . . 
Across    the    hedges    thick    with 

autumn  flowers 

Ah  !  for  the  heart  that  goes 

Ah,  long  the  storm,  yet  none  the 

less 

Ah  me  !  the  ways   of    God   with 

man 

A  life  of  waiting  lived  as  for  the 

Lord 

A  little  bird  flew  my  window  by. 
A  little  bird  I  am.    Prison  Hymn 

of 

All   common  things,  each   day's 

events 

All   is  of  God  !    If  He  but  wave 

His  hand 

All  the  day   long  I  seem  to  float 

away 

Among  so  many  can  He  care  ? 

And  is  there  care  in  heaven  ? 

And  so  we  yearn  and  so  we  sigh . . 
And  this  is  death  !  think  you  that 

raptured  soul 

Ascend,  beloved  to  the  love 

A  raveled  rainbow  overhead 

As  one  who  peers 

As  on  wrecked  battle  grounds 

As  the  bird  trims  her  to  the  gale. . 
As  the  poor  panting  hart  to  the 

waterbrook  runs  

As  torrents    in    summer.     From 

"  The  Xun  of  Nidaros. M 

At  evening  time  let  there  be  light. 


Horatius  Bonar 286 

William  C.  Gannett 169 

167 


Howard  Glyndon 146 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney 20 

Marjr  Bradley  27 


M  iss  Mulock 213 

Madam  Guyon 114 

Longfellow 179 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney  ."....  37 

Helen  Campbell. 216 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney 149 

Edmund  Spenser 77 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney 35 

J.  G.  Holland 279 

Horatius  Bonar 283 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney 11 

Archbishop  Leighton 264 

Adelaide  George  Bennett...     54 
Emerson 144 


A  lice  Gary 167 

Longfellow 52 

James  Montgomery 263 

Behold  the  throng Abraham  Perry  Miller 122 

Be  not  amazed  at  life Dean  Alford 133 


290  Mribcx  of  JHrst  £itxes. 


AUTHOR.  PAGE. 

If  I  must  win  my  way  to  perfect- 

ness J.G.Holland 211 

f  indeed Thomas  Burbidge 18 

f  thou  impatient  do  let  slip  thy   ■ 

cross Ugo  Bassi's  Sermon 222 

f  you  sit  down  at  set  of  sun 181 

have  a   little    trembling  light, 

which  still Henry  Septimus  Sutton 23 

have  a  sin  of  fear Bishop  Donne 137 

have  borne  scorn  and  hatred 06 

have  no  moan  to  make Phoebe  Cary 240 

have  some  songs  I  do  not  sing. .  Samuel  Dufrield 210 

hear  a  voice  ye  cannot  hear Tickell 266 

heard  the  trailing  garments  of 

the  Night Longfellow 10 

know  a  dark  and  lonely  dell James  Buckham 117 

know  not  what  the  future  hath. .  Whittier 138 

know   net   where  thine  islands 

lift Whittier 276 

know  the  hand  that  is  guiding 

me British  Evangelist 28 

know  thy  wondrous  ways  will 

end 206 

mind  the  weary  days  of  old. .    . .  A.  D.  F.  Randolph 197 

n  a  far  away  land  on  a  stone  it  is 

written go 

n  dreams  that  hold .       F.  W.  Bourdilion 194 

n  God  I'll  trust 35 

n  my  right  hand  I  clasp  to-mor- 
row's grief  Anna  Temple 55 

n  Poverty's  dark  cell  I  sit 108 

n   the    dusk  of   our     scrrowfi.1 

hours  Margaret  E.  Sangster 50 

n  the  throng I .  G.  Holland 65 

n  this  cruel  fire  of  sorrow Frances  Ridley  Havergal  . .      03 

n  weariness  I  wait  and  pray 120 

remember  best Amelia  E.  Barr 45 

said   one   day,   O   life  !    you're 

little  worth Laura  Garland  Can 164 

sit  beside  the  sea Edna  Dean  Proctor 244 

sit  upon  a  cypress  bough E.  B.  Browning 113 

s  not  the  night  all  dark.     A.  W. 

in . . . lt  Cambridge  Review.*' 121 

s  thy  cruise  of  comfort  failing  ?. .  Mrs.  Charles 45 

think  we   are   too  ready  with 

complaint E.  B.  Browning 43 

thought  to  work  for  Him 214 

t  is  one  thing  to  be  tempted Shakespeare 75 

tremble    at     the     thought    of 

heaven Ella  M .  Baker 134 

I  trust  in  my  soul Owen  Meredith 205 


hxbcz  of  iarst  £incs.  291 


AUTHOR.  I' AC,]-. 

I  trust  Thee,  O  Father,  Thy  word 

can  not  fail Mrs.  L.  S.  Mills 32 

.otimes  happens Sunday  Afternoon 242 

It  was  a  day  of  darkness  and  of 

doubt A.  P.  Miller 28 

I  wait Mary  Clemmer 207 

I  walk  down  the  Valley  of  Silence.  Father  Ryan 17', 

I  was  sitting  alone  in  the  twilight.  Mrs.  Hcrrick  Johnson 152 

I  will  go  forth   among  men,  not 

mailed  in  scorn Alexander  Smith 81 

I  would  be  joyful  as  my  days  go 

by A.  D.  F.  Randolph 20 

Known  only,  only  to  God Alfred  H.  Louis 15 

Know  that  his  dear  children  can- 
not die 232 

Labor  !  all  labor  is  noble  and  holy.  Frances  S.  Osgood 105 

Laborare  est  orare Miss  Mulock 102 

Late    on    me    weeping    did    this 

whisper  fall Henry  Septimus  Sutton 60 

Leave  God  to  order  all  thy  ways.  George  Newman 133 

Let  us   be  like  the  bird.     Victor 

Hugo,  translated  by Edwin  Arnold 130 

Let  us  De  patient  with  our  lot Josiah  Moody  Fletcher 100 

Life  we  have  been  long  together.  Mrs.  Barbauld 274 

Like  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  like  a  fly 

in  the  mesh Ella  Wheeler 56 

Lo  !  amid  the  press Susan  Coolidge 148 

Look  above  thee,  never  eye Bowring 265 

Lord,  according  to  Thy  words. . ..  George  Macdonald 170 

"Lord,  a  little.'  little  longer  !"...  Miss  Mulock 223 

Lord,  be  mine  this  prize  to  win . .  H.  F.  Lyte  72 

Lord,  if  I  dip  my  cup  into  the  sea 150 

Lo !    the   marvelous    contrast    of 

shadow  and  light Edward  Dean  Rand 13 

My  heart  grows  strong Duke  of  Brunswick.  .    .    ....  67 

My  sou!  complaineth  not Winkler 18 

My  wine  has  run  indeed  out  of 

my  cup E.  B.  Browning. 104 

'Neath  some  shadow  oft  I  wait... .  John  Ordronaux 68 

:  on  the  clear  bright  billow. .  Augusta  Harvey  VVorthcn. .  Cg 

Never  think  of  me  as  lying Phoebe  Cary . .  276 

No  bird-song   floated   down   the 

hill Whittier 235 

No  evil !    But  behold,  how   temp- 
est tost ! S.  W.  Weitzd 14 

it  !    we  say Edmund  C.  Stedman 29 

200 


292  3xihcx  of  ifirst  £ines. 


AUTHOR.  PAGE. 

Not   all   who  seem  to  fail  have 

failed  indeed 105 

Not  in  vain  do  we Frances  L.  Mace 275 

Not  so  hopeless,  drooping  spirit. .  Horatius  Bonar 45 

Not  to  forget  when  pain  and  grief 

draw  nigh Henry  Septimus  Sutton .  201 

Not  yet,  O  friend  !  not  yet Bret  Harte 9 

Now  I  need  not  fear  for  thee Paul  Gerhardt 238 

O  black  and  bitter  night Adelaide  George  Bennett  ...     24 

O,  don't  be  sorrowful,  darling Rembrandt  Peale 17 

O  God,  O  kinsman  loved,  but  not 

enough Jean  Ingelow 74 

Oh  !    blessed  are  the  dead Eliza  Mary  Hamilton 249 

Oh   deem    not    they   are  blessed 

alone Bryant 86 

Oh,  our  Father,  our  Father.    A. 

Werner  in  "The  King  of  the 

SilverCity." 121 

Oh,   the   temple  of  the  soul,    of 

what  tiny  stones  'tis  built 174 

Oh  !  tried  heart Mabel 93 

Oh  weary  heart  of  the  toiler William  Byrd  Chrisholm. . .     101 

Oh,what  will  be  that  life  to  come  ?  G.  W.  Crofts 270 

O  little  bird  !  that  all   the  weary 

day Ada  Gale 116 

O  Memory,  ope  thy  mystic  door. .  David  Gray 199 

On  a  far  shore,  my  land  swam  far 

from  my  sight 274 

Once  in  the  twilight  of  a  wintry 

day .  .  Emily  Huntingdon  Miller. .     237 

Once  pain  beat  upon  my  heart. . .  Ella  Wheeler ...   208 

One  day  at  a  time  !    every  heart 

that  beats Helen  Jackson  *H.  H.) 156 

One  of  these  days  it  will  all  be 

over 185 

One  summer  day  to  a  young  child 

I  said 147 

On  every  morrow  are  we  wreath- 
ing   Keats 49 

Open  the  Western  Gate Amelia  E.  Barr 143 

O  soul  of  mine,  when  tasks  are 

hard  and  long 59 

O  sudden  blast,  that  through  this 

silence  black Miss  Mulock 217 

Our  course    is    onward,  onward 

into  light Trench 46 

Our  prince  has  gone  to  his  inheri- 
tance   ' . . .  Julia  C.  R.  Dorr 232 

Our  very  perils  shut  us  in Anna  Letitia  Waring 130 


3nhcx  of  -first  tinea.  291 


AUTHOR. 

Out  of   the   sunshine   warm   and 

soft  and  bright Anon 30    ^ 

Over  the  narrow  foot-path Margaret  E.  Sangster 758 

Over  us,  patient  and  changeless 

and  far Frances  L   Mace .3 

O  weary  hearts  that  languish Adelaide  George  Bennett 48 

Pain's    furnace    heat    within   me 

quivers 220 

Plan  not,  nor  scheme,  but  calmly 

wait Macduff 128 

Raise  it  to  heaven  when  thine  eye 

fills  with  tears Frances  Kemble  Butler 55 

Reach  down  the  wanderer's  staff.  Frances  Kemble  Butler 267 

Restless,  restless  speed  we  on William  C.  Gannett 22 

Rise  up,   sad  one,  and   outward 

cast Adelaide  George  Bennett 26 

Roll  on,   O   earth  !    roll  on  and 

swing Edwin  S.  Hopkins 61 

Saying  ''There  is  no  hope,"  he 

stepped Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps 252 

See  how  the  far  east  brightens  !. .  Tr.  from  Fouqud  by  Andrews  260 

Seek  not  to  know 27     . 

See  the  Lord,  thy  keeper,  stand . .  Charles  Wesley 137 

Serene  I  fold  my  hands  and  wait.  John  Burroughs T48     / 

Shall  one  who  does  God's  image 

b~ar A.J.  S.in  N.  Hampshire  Poets  106 

Shall  we    sit   idly  down.     From 

"  Morituri  Salutamus  ' '  . .       .  Longfellow 186 

She  said  I  am  come  to  heaven  at 

last Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps 264 

She  shut    the    door    and    turned 

away 254 

Should      bereavement's       heavy 

shadow 232 

Shut  in  with  tears  that  are  spent 

in  vain 123 

Silence  and  darkness,  solitude  and 

sorrow 22 

Softly  sing  the  love  of  Jesus 82 

So  let  us  die 265 

Some  comfort    when    all  else   is 

night Alice  Cary   200 

Some  day  or  other  I  shall  surely 

come  Louise  Chandler  Moulton ...    1 72 

Some  souls  cut  off  from  moorings 36     /   f 

Sometimes  I  am  tempted  to  mur- 
mur  Margaret  E.  Sangster 150 


294  3ribz%  of  iHrst  £ines. 


AUTHOR.  PAGE. 

Sorely  tried  and  sorely  tempted . . 

From  "  Masque  of  Pandora".  Longfellow 74 

Sorrow  and  silence  are  strong 

From  "Evangeline " ...  Longfellow    115 

Souls  that  of  his  own  good   life 

partake Henry  More 238 

Speak   to   us    out    of   midnight's 

heart Lucy  Larcom  in  4k  January  "     12 

Still  alway   groweth    in  me  the 

great  wonder Alice  Cary 250 

Strange,  strange  for  thee  and  me.  Phcebe  Cary 253 

Strong  are  the  mountains,  Lord, 

but  stronger  Thou 129 

Summer  days "B.  M." 194 

Sum  up  at  night  what  thou  hast 

done  by  day George  Herbert 192 

Take  unto  thyself,  O  Father 54 

Tempted  in  all  pQints  like  our- 
selves    J.G.Holland 77 

Tears  are  not  always  fruitful Horatius  Bonar  59 

Thanks  for  the  benediction  of  thy 

love Hester  M.  Poole 187 

The    birds    have     hushed    their 

chorus A.  M.  in  the  '"Quiver".    ...     13 

The   Border  lands  are  calm   and 

still 207 

The  child  leans  on  its  mother's 

breast 21 

The    clouds    may    rest    on    the 

present Phcebe  Cary 39 

The  coiled  elastic  spring  of  steel.  E.  E.  Adams 168 

The  cup  of  my  years  was  filling. .  J.  H.  M 161 

0  The  days  are  all  alike"  she  said    182 

The  earth,    O    prisoned    soul,  is 

thine # 120 

The  faint,  low  echo  that  we  hear.  Adelaide  A.  Proctor. ......     184 

The  hands  are  such  dear  hands. . .  N.  Y.  Independent  157 

The  happy  dreams  that  gladdened 

all  our  youth 199 

The  heart  grows  richer  that  its  lot 

is  poor Lowell  106 

The  helper  of  his  mother M.  Woolsey  Stryker 99 

The  little  flowers  breathe  sweet- 
ness out Sarah  Williams 23 

The  Lord  knoweth  when  each  hot 

tear  floweth  G.  Z.  G 219 

The   Master  e'er  His  work  was 

done Mrs.  Luther  Keene 109 

The    moon    was    pallid    but  not 

faint Longfellow 87 


3nbc*   of  .first   Cincs.  205 


The  night   is    come  ;  like  to  the 

day Sir  Thomas  Browne 163 

The  past  is  mine  and  I  take  it  all.  Phoebe  Cary 75 

There  is  a  grandeur  in  the  soul 

that  dares Sara  J.  Clarke 128 

There  is  always  sunrise  some- 
where       46 

There   is  no   soul  but  has  some 

deep  regret A.  P.  Miller 197 

There's  many  a  rest  on  the  road 

oflife 183 

There's   not    an    hour    but   from 

some  sparkling  beach Helen  Jackson  (H.  H.) 255 

There  was  a  time  when  meadow, 

grove  and  stream  Wordsworth    195 

The  same  old  baffling  questions. .  Whittier 206 

The  sands  of  time  are  sinking 272 

These  saddened  years W.R.Cochrane 47 

The  shady  nooks  and  corners. . . .  Margeret  E.  Sangster 172 

The  stars  arc  in  the  sky  all  day. . .  Susan  Coolidge 39 

The  sudden  joys  that  out  of  dark- 
ness start Longfellow 198 

The    sufferer    sings— his    end    is 

near. . Tr.  from  Schmolke  by .  Gurney 275 

The  things  over  which  we  grieved 

with  lashes  wet 192 

The  waves  they  are  wildly  heav- 
ing   Alice  Cary .    259 

The  way  is  long,  my  darling Margaret  E.  Sangster 179 

They    are    poor    that    have    lost 

nothing Jean  Ingelow. .    ..        .......   192 

They  never  quite  leave  us Margaret  E.  Sangster. ......  247 

They  only  the  victory  win 71 

They  v/ho  have    learned  to  pray 

aright  207 

Think  ye  the  notes  of  holy  song. .  Whitlier 195 

This   leaf,  this    stone,   it    is    thy 

heart         205 

This  shall  please  Thee,  if  devoutly 

trying Johann  Heerman   67 

Thou  art  my  God Henry  Septimus  Sutton 37 

Thou  who  hast  so  long  pressed 

the  couch  of  pain ...  Bryant 224 

Through  black  waves  and  stormy 

blast Susan  Coolidge 21 

Thy  gifts  sustain Christian  Register 104 

Tired  ?     Well,  what  of  that  ? 58 

'Tis  all   I   have  -smoke,    failure, 

foiled  endeavor George  Macdonald 81 

'Tis  the  bold  who  win  the  race 127 

Tossed  on  temptation's  sea ...   76 


296  3ribcx  of  iFirst  Cincs. 


AUTHOR.  1'AGE. 

Turn  the  Past's  mirror  backward.  Miss  Mulock 273 

Unto  Him  who  washed  us B.  M 267 

Unto  the  hills  I  lift  mine  eyes 124 

Upon  the  sadness  of  the  sea R.  W.  M 5 

Up,  up,  the  day  is  breaking Paul  Gerhardt 21 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  fiame  ! . .  .  Alexander  Pope 269 

^    We  are  waiting,  Father,  waiting    Hayes  C.  French 33 

We  ask  Thy  peace,  O  Lord  ! Adelaide  A.  Proctor 96 

We,  ignorant  of  ourselves Shakespeare 49 

We  need  not  die  to  go  to  God 166 

Were  there  no  night  we  could  not 

read  the  stars Henry  Burton 119 

We  see  by  night's  sweet  showing.  Alex.  R.  Thompson 10 

We  shall  be  like  Him,  strange  the 

story Harriet  Chase 165 

We  shall  not  die  until  our  work 

be  done 157 

We  should  live  as  if  expecting. . .  Josiah  Moody  Fletcher 144 

What  a  strange  Being  holds  me  in 

his  might Charlotte  Fiske  Bates 139 

Whate'er  God  does  is  well Schmolke 106 

What  else  remains  for  me  ? 84 

What  foe  can  injure  me  ? Lyte 129 

What  is  that  we  call  death  ? Increase  N.  Tarbox 266 

What  matter  how  the  winds  may 

blow A.  D.  F.  Randolph 151 

What  profit  to  lay  on  God's  altar.  Margaret  J,  Preston 212 

What    tears    in    your    eyes,    my 

beloved!  Mabel i6r 

What  though  before  me  it  is  dark.  British  Messengers 31 

What  though  the  web  our  hands 

shall  leave  undone Laura  B.  Boyce  211 

^   What    though    we     grope    and 

stumble  in  the  way Laura  B.  Boyce 66 

What  to  shut  eyes  has  God  re- 
vealed ? Whittier 243 

When    all    the    weary    toil  with 

which  we  wrought Laura  B.  Boyce 85 

When  doomed  to  feel  that  youth 

is  o'er 201 

When  sins  and  follies  long  forgot 13° 

When  sorrow's  darkest  night Julia  D.  Peck 1 63 

When  the  sad  soul  in  weariness. .  Joseph  W.  Sutphen 83 

When  the  song's  gone  out  of  your 

life 44 

When  you  see  a  soul  set  free Phoebe  Cary 233 

Whether  winds  blow  foul  or  fair 108 

Why  art  thou  full  of  anxious  fear.  Paul  Gerhardt 108 


Bxibcx  of  .first   tines. 


297 


AUTHOR.  PAGS. 

Why  forecast  the  trials  of  life 180 

Why  should  we  do  ourselves  this 

wrong 147 

Why  that  look  of  dark  dismay  ? . .  Arthur  C.  Grisson 138 

Why  weep  yc  for  the  falling Alice  Cary 277 

Will  it  be  always  night  ? Nettie  Vernon 29 

Workman  of  God,   Oh.  lose  not 

heart "  Songs  of  Devotion  " 127 

Would  that  I  too  were  lying Jean  Ingelow 246 

You  have  said  that  God  is  just . . .  J.  G.  Holland 38     ►* 


K 


